From Humble Beginnings
by KnightMara
Summary: The story of a seemingly unremarkable boy's transformation into the man who plays a supporting role in the Harry Potter saga.
1. Chapter 1

**From Humble Beginnings**: Chapter 1

_By Knight Mara_

_A/N: Nothing belongs to me . . . everything recognizable is the property of J.K. Rowling. I merely dabble with words in her universe._

There was absolutely nothing remarkable about him at all.

He was of average height for an eleven year-old, with an average build that tended toward thinness, but then not noticeably so. His hair was an uninteresting light brown, and his blue eyes were a shade muted enough to make even those who best knew him forget what color they actually were. His features were neither homely nor handsome; the nose was a bit too large and the lips a bit too narrow for the usual standards of human beauty, and yet, they too, were average enough to go unnoticed. The wizarding robes he wore were modest in design and craftsmanship, and there were no eye-catching personal effects that might warrant a second look or a conversation-starting question.

Not a soul among his classmates or his friends could recall first meeting him. There were no anecdotal tales to be told by them of an encounter at King's Cross Station, that first ride aboard the Hogwarts Express, the Sorting, the feast, the first night at Hogwarts, or those first classes. He alone remembered with whom he had been for each of these, and each had been commonplace an unimpressive.

A fair, pudgy boy had stood nervously beside him without making eye contact on the train platform. Too anxious to notice anything other than the crowd of unfamiliar faces, he would never recall the fellow first-year who had helped him heave his trunk onto the train. Not that anyone ever expected Peter to remember things like that.

A muggle-born first-year witch with red hair had spent the entire train ride explaining the muggle world to a dark-haired, aristocratic-looking older girl who had tried not to appear as interested in the one-sided conversation as she had actually been. Neither Lily Evans nor Andromeda Black had paid any attention to the boy resting his head against the window and listening as the Scottish countryside rushed past.

A coldly handsome black-haired boy had muttered clever obscenities under his breath all through the Sorting Hat's rhyme about Slytherin House, grinning wickedly at the chuckles coming from those near enough (and sympathetic enough) to hear him. His cockiness masking a very deep and real fear of becoming a member of that house, he had paid more attention to the responses of the boys around him than to their faces. That had been Sirius.

A terribly skinny bespectacled boy with remarkably messy hair had practically gorged himself on the various foods littering the table, all the while gabbing on about quidditch and boasting of his latest flying achievements to anyone who would listen (or who was not sickened by his tendency to talk with his mouth full). All of his focus had been directed toward impressing two people sitting at the table: the scowling black-haired boy of the Slytherin swears, and the muggle-born red-head who seemed less than impressed the more he talked. Having neither a famous wizarding last name, nor a second X chromosome, the boy to his immediate left had been completely ignored. It would later be discovered that James always ate like a ravenous giant (and had as refined table manners as one), but he remained as skinny as ever throughout his Hogwarts years.

A nervous sixth year prefect had led them to their dormitories, instructing all the first years in the rules and procedures of Gryffindor tower and Hogwarts in general. There were far too many first years for him to remember anyone besides the Black who had been somehow sorted into his house instead of Slytherin. He had been so distrustful of the haughty Slytherin reject that he had failed to notice the boy paying more attention to the moon outside the common room window than the important instructions being given. For all his virtues, Frank Longbottom had never been keenly observant.

A shy, melancholy, dark-haired Slytherin boy had sat listening with rapt attention to Professor Slughorn's lecture on potion making. With every word the potions master spoke, the boy's waxen, sallow face began to radiate with an inner glow of hope. By time they were ready to begin their first potion, that hope had blossomed into a look of confidence so complete it had practically transformed his face. He was entirely unaware of the presence of his quiet partner (let alone the other boy's ineptitude at potions) as he was carried away by the buoyancy of that confidence, steadily doing the work of two on that first day of class. Severus Snape never even noticed when his partner did not attend the second class of the term, nor that the boy had chosen another partner upon his return.

In truth, the unremarkable boy was so good at not being noticed, not one of his classmates noticed that first disappearance, even though it occurred within the first week of school. There were no awkward questions to answer upon his return, no curious looks sent in his direction. His presence was so far below the notice of the students that there were few who spoke directly to him at all, and not a single one of them knew his name. The entirety of September and nearly all of October were spent in complete anonymity, and strange as it may seem, he would have been content to let the rest of his time at Hogwarts proceed in kind. He was used to living a solitary life, for such a life was far less complicated than the alternative, and he had spent much time cultivating his talent for existing outside the consciousness of others.

He was alone, but not lonely—unnoticed, but unconcerned.

How different his story would be if he had remained as he had been those first two months; yet transformation is the only constant in life, and there was no avoiding it, no matter how much one may wish things to remain the same.

Remus Lupin knew this all too well.


	2. Chapter 2Peter Pettigrew

**From Humble Beginnings: Chapter 2- Peter Pettigrew**

_By Knightnara_

_A/N: Again the same disclaimers apply. This chapter took forever and a day because writing from Peter Pettigrew's POV is pretty darn hard! But then I started thinking about the sort of boy he must have been, and so I tried to make him a bit more sympathetic than I originally planned (while still hinting at his darker nature)._

_Hope you all enjoy it. And even if you don't, please review. Reviews are lovely._

--

Peter Pettigrew was the first person to take notice of Remus Lupin.

It was a beautiful, sunny Saturday afternoon, the day before Halloween, and yet Peter Pettigrew walked the empty halls of Hogwarts under a pall of misery so thick it might as well have been midnight. For once, however, he was grateful to be alone—there would be no one to see him, or question why he was pathetically searching the halls instead of cheering on the Gryffindor quidditch team. Not that anyone ever questioned him about anything. No, rather they teased him . . . about everything. About his weight, the pale hair that hung limply on his head, his awful mishaps in Charms class, his even worse disasters in Potions, the ridiculously sentimental messages owled to him by his mother, and the pathetic cat he called a pet, the very animal for whom he was searching at this very moment.

There were days in which Peter wished he could simply disappear, and not in the magical, wizarding way of simply no longer _appearing_. No, Peter wished he could vanish from both sight and consciousness—to become a non-person so as to avoid the taunts and derisive laughter of the other students.

Then again, he would never be able to make a friend that way. Well, he hadn't made a single friend so far, so how much worse could it possibly get? Even Claus, his scrawny, evil cat, seemed to be doing his best to avoid him.

By two o'clock, he found himself in the library. The towering shelves of books had always seemed to have a labyrinthine quality, and he assumed that a cat like Claus would find them a highly enjoyable place to get himself good and lost. There was also the possibility that Claus might have chosen the library as the perfect location to wreak his unique brand of destructive havoc that had led the residents of Gryffindor tower to believe that his name was actually "Claws."

Truth be told, Peter wondered why he even bothered to search for the nasty creature. He had never developed any real affection for the cat, or any cat in general, for that matter. There was something about them that he found rather creepy and menacing, and every cat he encountered, including his own, seemed to know it. He would have been much happier with a toad, or even a mouse.

With a weary, depressed sigh, he looked up at the bookshelves that surrounded him and whispered, "Claus?" He kept his voice as low as possible, not wanting to offend Madam Pince or alert any students who might be indoors on this beautiful Saturday afternoon (as if there were any besides himself) that he was here. "Hello? Claus? Are you here, you stupid, bloody cat?"

He had not really expected a response, and now he felt somewhat foolish for sounding as though he had. At least there didn't seem to be anyone else around to have heard him.

Or was there? As he rounded one of the bookshelves, he suddenly spotted a table loaded high with books, and, just visible from behind the enormous pile, a hand loosely holding a quill.

Blood rushed to Peter's cheeks and he stammered, "I'm . . . er, I'm sorry. I was just looking for my cat. Have you seen him?"

There was nothing but silence in response, and Peter wondered if the person behind the books had even heard him. He moved a step closer to repeat himself, but as he approached, a sharp snore broke the silence, the quill dropped to the floor, and Peter found himself leaping backward in surprise and fear.

Fear? Over a quill dropped from an obviously sleeping person's hand in an empty library? Where was that Gryffindor courage the Sorting Hat had said he possessed? Disgusted with himself, he cleared his throat and took another step closer to the mountain of books. He hoped the low noise might stir the sleeper, but as before, nothing happened.

"Ahem," he cleared his throat ever louder, but still nothing. He paused, puzzled. Who would prefer sleeping in a library with _that_ many books to a quidditch match? Cat forgotten, Peter shifted slowly along the bookshelf until he could he could glimpse the sleeper. He took in all the details: small—probably in his year; long sleeves buttoned at the wrists; light brown hair; a Gryffindor tie peaking from under that hair—but that would mean that he was also in Peter's house!

Strange. Peter couldn't see his face from this angle, sure, but there was nothing recognizable about this person at all. Maybe he wasn't in Peter's year. But Peter was sure he had tried to meet (and befriend—unsuccessfully) everyone in his own year and the year above. This boy was certainly not big enough to be a third year!

Curiosity making him bold, Peter stepped closer, gazing at the various books that lay piled upon the table. He scanned their titles, noting that most had to do with Potions (how he_ hated_ Potions!), but there were a few other books as well, including the first year Transfiguration book. So this person _was_ in Peter's year!

He took a closer look at the sleeping boy, and then it hit him. There were four boys in the first year dormitory. James Potter, Sirius Black, himself, and . . . oh, what was that other boy's name? Something with an _L_, like Luke, or Lucas, or Louis, or something like that . . . but, the funny thing was, he was even more of a nobody than Peter. Come to think of it, Peter hadn't even tried to get to know his name, let alone befriend him. And here this boy was on a beautiful Saturday afternoon, alone in the library.

Like Peter.

Peter grimaced. "I am so pathetic," he whispered under his breath. Then, as he often did, he acted quickly to get his mind off of that track, and the only thing he could think to do was to grab the book at the top of the boy's pile.

"Perfecting Potions: How to Brew Your Best," he read aloud from the cover before flipping it to a random page. "In many ways," he continued reading aloud, "potion making is a culinary art akin to recreating that perfect recipe time and time again. Grandmother always knew exactly how to make those delicious biscuits year after year, and how did she manage it?"

"You may borrow it if you'd like," a quiet voice interrupted.

Peter emitted a startled squeak before slamming the book shut to stare at the unexpected speaker. It was the boy, now wide awake, and he was staring back at him with a curiously blank expression. "S-sorry," Peter stammered.

"I said you may borrow the book," the boy repeated, and Peter noted that it sounded as though he had a cold—or was his voice usually hoarse? Peter didn't think he'd ever heard him speak before. How odd.

"It's all right, if you want it," the boy added, and Peter realized that he'd been simply staring.

"Oh, sorry," Peter replied, placing the book back down on top of the pile. "I, er, I was just curious to see what it said," he lied, before adding truthfully, "and I'm rubbish at Potions."

The boy in front of him did not change his expression, but merely said, "Me, too."

Peter smiled weakly. "Well, that's a relief. Slughorn makes it seem as though I'm the only one who can't brew a decent cheering draught."

The boy didn't respond. Instead he looked down at his watch and started gathering up the parchment and ink he'd been sleeping on. "Is the match over?"

Startled by the change of topic, Peter took a moment to answer. "I, er, I can't really say. I didn't go to the match."

The boy's pale eyes met his for a brief moment, and Peter could have sworn there was a bit of curiosity in that look, so he went on.

"I missed it because I've been looking for my cat. You haven't seen him, have you?" he added hopefully.

The boy was stowing his supplies in his bag as he answered, "Claws? No, I haven't."

"His name isn't _Claws_. It's _Claus,_" Peter corrected, a bit testily, he was ashamed to admit. But this boy whose name he didn't even know was calling his cat "Claws." It wasn't right.

The boy, however, had paused and was now staring at him again. "Sorry, Peter."

Peter blinked at him, stunned. "How did you know my name?"

The boy blinked back, seeming surprised by the question. "We share a room, Peter."

"Right," was all Peter could manage to say, as he forced himself to keep from saying, "Yeah, but I don't know yours." He figured that might come across a bit badly, like he was a snob, or insensitive, or oblivious, or something. In fact, now realizing that the boy knew his name, he felt somewhat guilty and ashamed for knowing next to nothing about him. Once again, he acted on impulse to squelch those feelings. "Er . . .let me help you put those away," he said, reaching for the books.

"That's all right," the boy responded hastily. He scooped up several of the books, adding, "I've got them."

Peter was somewhat surprised by the number of books the boy carried—there was no way _he_ could carry that many books at once—but he insisted, "Well, it's not as if I've anything better to do. Believe me, picking up books is loads more fun than finding my stupid cat."

He heard a slight coughing sound. Was it his a trick of his imagination, or did the other boy just chuckle?

"Fine, then," the boy said as he moved away with his pile of books, "but do you know where they go?"

Peter had just picked up two books when he froze, glaring at the back of the strange boy's head angrily. "You know, I have been in the library once or twice! I'm not as dumb as people think I am!"

The boy quickly turned around, his pale eyes wide and alarmed. "I didn't mean for you to think . . .. I'm sorry, I . . .. I just didn't . . .. You weren't here when I took them down from the shelves, and even I can't remember where _all_ of them came from. That's all. I never thought that you were stupid."

Peter shifted uncomfortably, the two books still in his hands. The boy seemed insistent, and, well, his explanation was reasonable enough. But Peter had never had anyone apologize for making him feel bad. After all, what did anyone care what Peter Pettigrew felt?

It was obvious from the other boy's expression, however, that he really _did_ care what Peter felt. And _that_ made Peter's own feelings of guilt return. "That's all right," he said, with a sheepish smile. "I guess I'm sort of . . . touchy . . . about things. People make fun of me, you know."

"I know," admitted the other boy. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," Peter assured him. "And besides, I should be the one apologizing, since I don't even know your name."

The other boy looked down at the stack of books he was holding (great Merlin, he was still holding all those books!), and said softly, "It's Remus."

"Oh," remarked Peter, half surprised and half disappointed. He frowned and looked away as his cheeks grew hot. "I guess, then, that I am as dumb as people think I am, because I thought your name started with an L."

Again there was that slight coughing sound that sounded like a chuckle, and this time he saw the boy, Remus, smiling. "Lupin," he said hoarsely. "Remus Lupin."

"Oh." This time, the syllable emerged as a happy squeak. "So I was right, after all. The professors all call us by our surnames, so . . . yeah, I don't feel so dumb anymore!"

This time, the Lupin boy was definitely laughing. Then he jerked his chin toward the bookshelves, still smiling as he said, "Come on, Peter."

"Right," Peter chimed, grabbing a third book just to prove he could carry it (but how many was Lupin carrying? Five?). Then they went to work, putting the books back on the shelves. Peter was embarrassed to discover that one of the books he had grabbed had been Lupin's own transfiguration textbook, but the other boy had simply levitated the book back to the table with an almost casual _swish-and-flick_ of his wand.

"Obviously, you're better in Charms than I am," Peter groaned.

The Lupin boy looked quizzically at him, one eyebrow raised, but said nothing.

"I still haven't mastered the levitation spell," Peter elaborated glumly.

"That was the first day of class," the other boy remarked before his cheeks turned slightly pink, as though he had just realized what he had said.

"Yeah, well," Peter shifted uncomfortably again, his neck growing hot with embarrassment, "I suppose . . . I don't know. It's just that every time I think I'm getting close to getting something right, the professors are pushing ahead to the next thing, and I'm back to square one. I'm so far behind in everything . . . I'm . . . well . . . afraid . . .." He trailed off, too ashamed to voice his true fear.

"You're afraid you're a squib?" the Lupin boy asked.

Peter's blood went cold to hear the word. He couldn't even muster a response. It was as though his throat had closed up and anything he might try to say would emerge as a squeak at best. So, he kept silent, knowing that the other boy had him pegged.

"There are worse things, Peter," he heard the Lupin boy say quietly.

"Like what?" Peter had been right to keep quiet before. His voice was, indeed, pinched and piercing.

Lupin, however, did not say. Instead, he handed Peter the last book and asked, "Do you have your wand with you?"

Confused, Peter took the book and began scrambling about his robes for his wand. "I know I brought it with me. But why?"

He had just closed his fingers around the familiar polished wood of his wand when he heard Lupin say, "Just put it on the shelf there, and pay attention."

Peter threw him a curious look. Why would the boy ask about his wand, and then tell him to put it aside? And why was he talking to him like he was a professor or something? In spite of his misgivings, he put the wand upon the shelf as instructed and held onto the book as he watched Lupin, who was now clearing his throat.

"What you want to do is master the incantation first," the boy instructed. "Then, you practice the movement of the wand, without the incantation. And finally, you put them together, focusing on the object you want to levitate."

Peter felt his eyes widen, and he stiffened. "Wait! You're going to teach me?"

Lupin looked at him. "I _was_."

"Professor Flitwick couldn't teach me how to do it, so what makes you think you can?" Peter snapped at him angrily. "Or did you want to just prove how much better you are, and how stupid I am?"

"You're _not_ stupid, Peter!" Lupin retorted in a whisper. "But you are going to bring Madam Pince down on us if you don't shut up!" His hand suddenly flew to his mouth, his pale eyes wide and alarmed. Then he lowered his hand and whispered, "I'm so sorry. That was very rude of me."

For a moment, Peter just stared at the strange boy who kept apologizing to him. No one had ever apologized this much, to Peter's knowledge, anyway. It was disconcerting, but it was also somewhat nice. It made Peter feel as though his feelings mattered—as though_ he_ mattered.

He took a deep breath, and then offered a weak smile. "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gotten angry," he told Lupin. "I'm just so used to people being . . . well, no one here has really tried to help me at all. And I don't have any friends here. It's like I don't belong, and I get angry and embarrassed and depressed all at once because I can't do anything right, and everyone lets me know it."

Lupin frowned. "You're giving people you don't even know far too much power over how you feel. And as far as belonging, you got your Hogwarts letter, the same as everyone else."

Though he could not explain why, those words made a world of difference to Peter Pettigrew in that moment. Suddenly, the weak smile on his face blossomed into face-splitting grin, the heat that ran up his neck toward his cheeks was no longer the embarrassed flush it had been before, and his heart practically leaped with something akin to pride and confidence. "You're right," he said, before he could stop himself.

Lupin simply arched an eyebrow and grinned.

Peter laughed. "How come you're so different from the others?"

Lupin's grin vanished. "How so?"

"Well, you're nice, for starters," Peter answered, barely noticing the other boy's change in demeanor. "You haven't made fun of me, you were going to help me with Charms before I practically jumped down your throat—"

Lupin's sudden laugh cut him off. "I can still help you with Charms, you know."

Excited that the offer still stood, Peter chirped, "Then teach me. Show me how to levitate this book," he added, with a punctuating shake of the copy of _Children of the Night: The Dark Deeds of Dark Creatures_ in his hands.

A short while later, Peter and his new companion were sitting outside the library shaking with giggles at having just been evicted for causing several "unseemly noises". Peter suspected that the final straw for Madam Pince had been the deafening slam of four large books hitting the table simultaneously from six feet above—but it had been impossible to resist the temptation to drop them so spectacularly once he had finally mastered the spell, and Lupin had been more than game.

"I can't wait for Charms on Tuesday," Peter laughed, looking up at the ceiling as he leaned against the corridor wall. "Professor Flitwick is going to fall off his stack of books."

Lupin laughed in response, a slightly wheezy giggle that eventually had him toppling over and clutching his sides as he obviously pictured tiny Professor Flitwick falling backwards with a little squeak and disappearing from sight. Peter himself had to admit that the mental image was pretty hilarious; the fact that someone else was laughing made it all the better. He'd never had a friend with whom to share a joke like this, or who would want to sit outside the library giggling over a quartet of dropped books and images of silly professors.

It felt good.

"I owe you one, Lupin," Peter told the still giggling boy beside him.

Lupin pushed himself up and coughed, smiling back at him. "Don't mention it," he said with a wave of his hand. "But I'll have to work hard to get back into Madam Pince's good graces."

"Oh, librarian's pet, are you?" Peter teased, surprised by his boldness as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

Lupin, however, gave a short coughing laugh and replied, "I think she's under the mistaken impression that I'm a Ravenclaw."

Peter chuckled. The truth was, from what he could tell, Lupin _was_ smart. Peter wouldn't have been surprised to find that Lupin _had_ been sorted into Ravenclaw, but the Sorting Hat had its reasons. For a while, it had wanted to sort Peter into Slytherin, though he could not even imagine what Slytherin house would have been like. It had been hard enough to try to fit in with the Gryffindors. Speaking of which . . ..

"Say, how come you're not down at the quidditch match with the others?" Peter asked.

Lupin glanced down at his watch and arched an eyebrow. "Because it's probably over by now."

Peter shook his head. "No, before."

At this, Lupin simply shrugged his shoulders. He said nothing, and it eventually became clear that he wasn't going to answer.

"Don't you have any friends?" Peter pressed.

This time, it was clear that Lupin's silence was an uncomfortable one. He began fiddling with the watch on his wrist, and he was biting his lip. But why wouldn't someone like Lupin have friends?

Then again, why didn't Peter have any friends?

"Guess you're like me, then, eh?" Peter offered with a wan smile. When Lupin didn't look up, he nudged the boy with his elbow and smiled wider.

Lupin's pale eyes were both curious and worried as he glanced up at Peter. "Like you?"

"Yeah, you know," Peter said with a slight, deprecating laugh. "A bit of an outsider? Different? Not, well, one of _them_?" He pointed at the students who were now ascending the stairs and walking the corridors. It appeared that the match had ended after all.

Beside him, Lupin snorted. "You've no idea," he whispered hoarsely.

Peter shook his head. Maybe Lupin didn't realize just how much of an outcast Peter actually was. Maybe Lupin didn't know how many people he'd tried to befriend, and how often the result was a teasing comment, or a mocking laugh, or just outright derision and rudeness. Or maybe Lupin was simply a loner by choice—though Peter doubted the boy would be so clearly uncomfortable with his status if it had been a choice.

Perhaps, thought Peter, the two of them were _meant_ to be friends—a pair of misfits who had found each other in the Hogwarts library after the Sorting Hat had unexpectedly placed them in the same house.

He took a deep breath, gave Lupin a hopeful smile, and said, "Well, we could always be friends?" He hadn't meant for it to come out sounding so much like a question, but he was too used to rejection to put any real certainty (or false confidence) behind the words.

Lupin shrugged his shoulders again. "I don't have friends," he said softly.

"Oh." Peter wanted to hide the disappointment in his voice, but it slipped out past the lump that unexpectedly formed in his throat.

Even a boy who dozed in the library during a quidditch match didn't want to be his friend.

"That doesn't mean . . . I mean," the Lupin boy was stumbling over his words again, and Peter saw the same worried, concerned look in his pale eyes that he'd seen earlier in the library. "It's not that I don't want . . . you're a decent sort . . . and, well . . . but I . . .."

"You don't want to be seen with me," Peter finished for him, now tired and irritated with his worried ramblings. "I understand."

"No, you don't," Lupin insisted, turning his whole body to face Peter. "That's not it at all."

"Then what is it?" Peter snapped. "Why does nobody in this whole sodding school want to be my friend?" He crossed his arms in front of his chest, wishing he could just disappear, knowing how childish and stupid he sounded, feeling as pathetic as everyone thought he was, and hoping that this rotten, miserable day would just end!

A fast moving blur caught his attention, and he looked up to see Claus sprinting down the corridor. The cat never even glanced in his direction, but kept moving swiftly away from the library from which it had just come.

So he _had _been in the library! Damn cat!

"Wasn't that your cat?" he heard Lupin ask once the feline had disappeared from view.

"Yeah," Peter grunted in reply.

"Shouldn't we go after him?"

"Why?" retorted Peter. "The cat doesn't like me, and I don't like him. Maybe he should just stay lost."

Lupin, however, stood up and dusted himself off.

"What are you doing?" Peter asked, looking up at him with a scowl.

"Going after your cat before he gets too far," Lupin replied. "I know you didn't mean what you said, and I feel guilty that he's getting away, since you probably would have found him earlier if I hadn't distracted you in there." He pointed toward the library doors. "I'll just be a minute."

"Hold on," Peter interrupted, getting up. "You don't have to go after my cat."

"I know," Lupin acknowledged, before taking a deep breath and adding, "but . . . well, friends do that sort of thing, don't they?" He smiled at Peter.

For a moment, Peter just stood there, confused. He really wasn't sure what to make of this Lupin boy, but, well, he had just referred to them as _friends_, hadn't he? And a boy like Lupin would be a handy friend to have. After all, he was good in Charms, seemed to take his studying seriously (unlike Peter's other two roommates—not that they'd be his friends anyway), and he was a rather helpful sort. Not to mention, he seemed to be the only person in the school who didn't make it his duty to tease Peter at every opportunity.

Was there really any question in the matter?

"Yeah," agreed Peter with a return smile. "I guess you're right."

--

Later that evening, Remus Lupin mulled over the events of the day as he lay in his bed. He could hear Peter's high-pitched snores from across the room, and he wondered, and not for the first time, if befriending Peter had been the wisest decision. After all, friends tended to notice things, and Remus had made a point of going unnoticed as much as possible for the sake of his education. Would Peter begin to wonder about his monthly absences? Would he ask questions, and was Remus prepared to answer them? The next full moon was Tuesday night, after all. What excuses would he have to give?

Then again, Peter was not the most observant student in Gryffindor tower. It had taken them ages to find the cat again, and then it had been Remus who had spotted him. But silliness with library books aside, Peter didn't seem to court trouble like some of the others. Perhaps luck was on Remus's side this time. After all, he could certainly do worse than Peter Pettigrew.

With a contented sigh, he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep. A friend like Peter he could handle. A friend like Peter would be good.

A friend like Peter was all he could ever hope for.


	3. Chapter 3 Lily Evans

**From Humble Beginnings: Chapter 3—Lily Evans**

_By KnightMara_

_A/N: Everyone in this chapter belongs to J.K. Rowling._

_I apologize for taking so long to update. However, this chapter, like the previous one, was surprisingly difficult to write. This one actually went through three completely different drafts—it was one of those situations where I knew what I wanted to happen at the beginning and at the end, but I wasn't sure how to get from point A to point B. Plus, I found writing Lily nearly as difficult as writing Peter, but for different reasons. The main problem with writing Lily is that she really isn't a fully developed character in the books—she's only seen through memories, photographs, or ghostly apparitions, all of which are colored by the perceptions of the character to whom they belong or appear. So, I've taken a stab at Lily, and I hope I've hit something close to the nebulous mark._

_Again, please review. I can't improve my writing if you don't review. Even if you hate it, let me know (and tell me why . . . please!) I promise that I won't bite. _

_- - - - - - - - - - - - - _

Lily Evans was the next person to take an interest in Remus Lupin, but only after taking an unexpected interest in Peter Pettigrew.

It was a Tuesday afternoon at the beginning of November, and she and the other First Year students were leaving Charms. It had been a good class (they had been practicing Sticking Charms, with the expected comic results), and Lily had thoroughly enjoyed it. Of course, she would have been hard pressed to find a class she did not enjoy, although her weakest class was still Defense Against the Dark Arts. After all, she had never imagined the wizarding world could be so dark and dangerous—or that the creatures of muggle fiction could be real. Who knew that vampires, werewolves, banshees, and other evil beings actually existed? Or that there were protective and defensive spells to use against the dark wizards who lurked outside the boundaries of Hogwarts? It was enough to give her nightmares on occasion, and she often found herself daydreaming about the simple elegance of Potions or the beauty of Transfiguration while she was supposed to be learning about the ways to evade grindylows.

"Oi! What's the matter, Peter?"

Lily turned to see the two most loathsome Hogwarts students, James Potter and Sirius Black, jogging down the aisle of desks towards a miserable looking Peter Pettigrew, who was trying to make his way out of the Charms classroom as quickly as possible.

"Yeah, Pete," Black said teasingly, as soon as he had reached Pettigrew's side. "You look like you've lost your best friend."

"But that would mean you'd had a friend to lose," Potter rejoined. "Petey's tryin' to go all popular on us, Sirius."

"Doesn't seem to be workin' out too well, for him, though," Sirius laughed back and the two boys sprinted from the room, leaving Peter standing stock-still and looking utterly depressed.

Lily immediately felt sorry for him. She didn't particularly like Peter Pettigrew; after all, he was the type of annoying boy who seemed desperate for attention and approval—for pity's sake, he had followed several Gryffindor girls around for several days hoping to appear nice and helpful, but seeming instead rather creepy and pitiful. But silly and sad though he might be, he did not deserve cruelty from the likes of Potter and Black. A part of her wanted to go over and comfort the dejected looking boy; after all, he did look more miserable than usual. However, another part of her knew that if she approached Peter, he might mistake her concern for something more, and then she might never be able to shake him off. She shuddered at the thought, and with a sigh that was full of both pity and shame, she left the classroom.

She didn't give the boy another thought until several hours later, as she sat in the Great Hall with a book about dark creatures settled on her lap. She almost always preferred reading to the idle gossip that usually took place at dinner, and recently she had begun to pick up various books on Defense Against the Dark Arts from the library in order to get a better grasp on the subject. Severus Snape had recommended this one to her so that she could better understand the dangers of dark creatures, as well as how to recognize those that masqueraded as humans. Lily smiled to herself at the thought of how animated Severus had gotten while talking about the subject. While Lily easily matched his passion for Potions—they had been partners since the second class—she would never understand his love of Defense Against the Dark Arts. Then again, Severus could never understand what she loved about Transfiguration, so she supposed they were even.

"Oh, Professor McGonagall," she heard a squeaky voice to her left call out. "Did you find out anything about Remus?"

She glanced over to see her Transfiguration professor pause en route to the staff table. Shifting slightly to get a better look, she saw that it had been Peter Pettigrew who had called out to her.

"Yes, Mister Pettigrew," the professor replied. "Madam Pomfrey has informed me that your friend, Mister Lupin, has a fever and will be staying in the hospital wing overnight."

_Mister Lupin? _Lily glanced curiously back and forth between Peter and the professor. She could have sworn she knew the name of everyone in her year, but somehow she could not recall any such person.

"Oh." Lily could hear the disappointment in Peter's voice. "Will he be back in class tomorrow?"

"I don't know," Professor McGonagall responded with a hint of impatience. "I suppose it all depends on whether or not he is still contagious tomorrow, and that, Mister Pettigrew, is something that only Madame Pomfrey can determine." And with that, she continued on toward the staff table.

Lily watched her go, instantly curious about this mystery student, but her attention was soon diverted by Potter and Black, who were now laughing.

"So you really _did_ lose your best friend, Petey!" Black said with mock seriousness. "I had no idea. My deepest apologies to you and your ill mystery friend."

"Yeah, Pete," chimed in Potter. "But he must be even more of a nobody than you, 'cause no one else even knew he was missing. Don't know if I even know who he is. Do you, Sirius?"

Black shook his head. "Nope." He looked back at Peter. "What's his name again? Loopy?"

Peter seemed to shrink into himself, but he spoke up in a squeaky voice, "His name is Remus _Lupin_. And . . . and you'd better not say anything about him."

"Or what, Petey Pitiful?" Potter teased.

Peter's face reddened, and Lily thought he looked ready to explode. "Just shut up!" he cried.

"Ooh," gasped Black in mock surprise. "I think he's getting angry, James. Maybe he's gonna' sic his new boyfriend on us!"

"Is that true, Petey?" Potter asked, matching Black's expression and tone. "Is little Loopy going to come and defend your honor?"

Lily could take no more. Before she could stop herself, she yelled, "Oh, would you two just stuff it!"

Potter, Black, and Pettigrew all froze and looked at her, as did several other Gryffindors seated nearby.

"It's bad enough that you pick on Peter all the time," she went on, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks even as she gave vent to her anger. "But now you're picking on someone you don't even know, who isn't even here to defend himself! You're both . . ._ pathetic!_"

Black was the first to recover his voice. "_We're_ pathetic?" he demanded. "Aren't you Snivelly's little girlfriend? Maybe you should just bugger off to Slytherin table where you belo-"

He didn't get the chance to finish because he was suddenly dripping with pumpkin juice, Lily's hand having emptied her very full goblet in his face before she even realized what she was doing. Now, seeing him there, his black hair hanging wetly upon his shocked face, she suddenly came to herself. She knew she should leave before they hexed her; she knew she should bolt out of the Great Hall before it was too late. But instead, she stood where she had risen, determined to give the two boys one last piece of her mind before she fled.

"You two are mean, sad little boys who have to insult everyone just to make yourselves feel bigger and more important," she bit out. "But the truth is, you're not important, you're not funny, and you're not worth another word from me." And with that, she made her hasty retreat from the Great Hall, her heart thumping in her ears as she left.

She was halfway up the stairs to Gryffindor tower when she heard, "Hey, Lily! Wait up!"

She recognized the squeaky voice as belonging to Peter, and she stopped, surprised that the boy had followed her. He was red-faced and puffing by the time he reached her, but he was smiling—a great big smile that lit up his whole face.

"That was bloody brilliant!" he crowed.

Lily tucked her hair behind her ear nervously and gave him a weak smile in return. "They deserved it."

"I know," agreed Peter nervously, "but I could never have . . . I mean, I tried, but . . .." He took a step closer and whispered, "Today, in Charms, I managed to stick a piece of parchment that said 'Kick Me' to Potter's back, but Black spotted it. Neither of them knew it was me. Don't think anyone would guess that I could manage a Sticking Charm."

Lily took a step back and looked at Peter appraisingly. "You really performed a Sticking Charm?"

Peter's face fell. "I practiced a lot this weekend. Not Sticking Charms, but the others we've done in class. Remus helped."

"Remus?" Lily asked, confused. Then she remembered. "Oh, the boy in the hospital wing. Right."

Peter's face fell even further. "You don't know who he is either, do you?"

Lily thought for a moment, then shook her head. To be honest, if she hadn't overheard his conversation with Professor McGonagall, she might have assumed Peter was talking about an imaginary friend.

Peter, however, shrugged. "Well, even I didn't know him until this weekend, and we're roommates. He sort of keeps to himself. Only we've become friends now, and he's helping me with some of my classes. Like Charms and Transfiguration. But not Potions. He's crap at Potions, just like me."

Lily couldn't help herself, and she laughed. "How can anyone be bad at Potions?"

"How can anyone be bad at Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Peter shot back, his chin jutting out defensively.

Lily balked. "How do you know I'm bad at Defense?"

Peter looked at her pointedly. "How did you know I was bad at Charms?"

He had a point, she realized. She was about to ask him more about his friend when she heard a voice call up the stairs with a very distinct Scottish lilt, "Miss Evans?"

Lily felt the blood drain to her feet as she turned to see Professor McGonagall climbing the stairs with a somewhat drier Black and a smirking Potter in tow. "Yes, Professor?"

"Miss Evans," McGonagall said sternly, "I cannot tolerate pumpkin juice being tossed willy-nilly all over the Great Hall, no matter what these two buffoons might have done to provoke you."

"Professor, we didn't—" Potter began to protest, but McGonagall silenced him with a glare.

Lily, however, offered a quiet, "Yes, Professor. I am sorry for my behavior."

"Thank you," McGonagall replied, "but I shall still have to deduct five points from Gryffindor, and you are to report to my office at six o'clock tomorrow for detention."

"Yes, Professor," Lily responded, trying to ignore the smug expression on Black's face.

McGonagall nodded her head in apparent appreciation for such a mature acceptance of punishment, then steered the two boys up the stairs. Once Lily and Peter were alone again, Peter said, "I'm sorry you got into trouble, Lily."

Lily shrugged and tucked another strand of hair behind her ear. "It was my own fault, Peter. I let them get to me."

"Yes, but because you defended me and Remus," Peter insisted. "I owe you one, Lily."

Lily looked cautiously at Peter, hoping he didn't mean he was now going to be tagging along behind her with his mystery friend out of some sort of ridiculous hero worship. She certainly didn't want that. But then, to her surprise, Peter turned and began to trot upstairs toward Gryffindor Tower, and it suddenly occurred to her that maybe, just maybe, she had misjudged Peter. Maybe he wasn't as creepy and clingy as she and the others had thought. Maybe he had just felt so alone at Hogwarts that he had simply wanted a friend. Who wouldn't? After all, she had Severus, Black and Potter had each other, and now Peter had this Remus fellow, whom she assumed must be a decent sort to have helped Peter out this weekend.

Now that she thought about it, it must be nice to have friends in one's own house. She and Severus always had to make plans to meet somewhere, and if making those plans was not always easy, keeping them was even worse. And as far as her roommates went, Lily really hadn't felt any particular bond with any of them.

Something, however, now lured her toward Peter's mystery friend. Perhaps it was the fact that this boy had been living in Gryffindor Tower since the start of term and she had never even met him. Or perhaps it was the thought that he was the sort to spend a weekend tutoring a new friend. Then again, perhaps it was simply because she liked the thought of boys who kept to themselves. It suggested a sort of maturity—like the kind that Severus possessed.

Lily would definitely appreciate a boy like Severus in Gryffindor.

And, perhaps, Peter might not be such a bad bloke after all.

She headed up the stairs, quickly catching up to Peter. "Say, Peter," she said, and he turned around, surprise etched on his features. "Fancy a game of wizard's chess, since your friend is in the hospital wing?"

The boy smiled. "Sure," he said, "but I'm warning you. I'm a fair genius at chess."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Two days later, Lily had yet to meet Peter's mysterious friend. He had been a no-show in classes on Wednesday, and Thursday morning, Peter reported that he still had not returned to his dormitory. Peter was actually beginning to grow quite worried about Remus, and he told Lily that he was going to pay a visit to the hospital wing before Charms.

"I just need to find out why he hasn't come back yet," he explained.

Lily nodded. "I'll meet you in the Charms classroom, then. I just have to run back to my room to get my textbook."

She then left Peter and headed for Gryffindor Tower. She rushed through the portrait hole and headed across the common room, nearly colliding with someone who was leaving the boy's dormitory. "Oh, excuse me," she said, then paused, staring at the boy she had nearly run into.

He looked vaguely familiar, though she couldn't put a name to the face. He had a small, rather feminine mouth, a largish nose, and a generally lean look. At the moment, though, he was very pale and he looked drawn, as though he had been ill. A bag was slung over his shoulder, and in his arms he held . . . a Charms textbook!

Well, if this wasn't the mystery boy, then who was?

"Remus Lupin, I presume?" she ventured hopefully.

The boy practically jumped out of his skin, pale blue eyes widening in alarm before he recovered himself. "Y-yes," he stammered hoarsely in reply, shifting his bag to his other shoulder and brushing his fringe out of his eyes.

Lily saw that he seemed strangely nervous. "Are you alright?" she asked him.

Again, there was a flash of alarm in his eyes before he responded, "Pardon?"

Puzzled by his behavior, Lily explained, "Professor McGonagall said you'd been in the hospital wing with a fever. I was simply wondering if you were feeling better."

Remus nodded, a bit stiffly. "Yes," he replied, shifting his bag again and stuffing the Charms book into it. "Quite. Thank you."

Still bemused, she glanced at his ever-moving bag and asked, "Heading to Charms, then?"

"What?" he asked, looking toward his bag as though he were desperately trying to keep up with her train of thought and losing. "Oh, yeah," he answered at length. "S-sorry. It took me a moment to remember if I was going to the right class. I'm a bit . . . well, I haven't been to classes in two days. I feel a bit lost."

"Of course," Lily said, nodding in understanding, glad to finally have an explanation for his odd behavior. She had been beginning to wonder if he might be a bit thick. "Well, would you mind waiting for a moment? I have to run up and get my book, and then we can walk to class together and get you caught up."

Remus scratched the back of his neck nervously. "Well, I should probably get there early, seeing as I—"

"I'll just be a minute," Lily interjected. She then spun around and raced up the stairs to get her book without giving him a chance to refuse. She really hoped that he'd still be there when she got back to the common room, as she really wanted the chance to talk to him—to find out if he was truly worth the interest in him that her conversation with Peter had sparked.

To her delight, she saw that he was still there when she returned with her book. He was leaning against one of the large, overstuffed chairs, his bag swinging lazily back and forth in front of his legs while he waited, his pale eyes following the bag's movement from side to side beneath long lashes. "You've got your book, then?" he asked, looking up just as she was about to speak.

"Yes," she said with a smile. "I'm happy you waited for me."

He smiled in return, the expression looking somewhat odd on his drawn and pallid face. "You didn't leave me much choice after you ran up there. It would have been rude of me to leave."

"Sorry," Lily replied, blushing. She then thrust out her hand. "I'm Lily—"

"Evans," Remus finished for her. "Yes, I know," he added when her jaw dropped at his unexpected interruption. He shook her hand. "We rode the Hogwarts Express together."

"We did?" Lily couldn't remember anyone else being in her compartment besides Severus and that older girl who had been so keen to hear all about life with muggles.

Remus, however, gave a little nod and said, "You came into my compartment with Severus Snape, long after the train had already started moving. You were telling Black's cousin about muggles, and I was desperately trying to sleep in the corner."

Lily giggled. "I don't remember this at all. Well, I remember sitting with Severus and talking to that girl—did you say she was Black's cousin?"

Again, Remus nodded. "I heard him say something to James Potter about her being secretly engaged to a muggle-born. Apparently, his family doesn't approve of that sort of thing."

Lily bristled. She'd heard about such wizarding prejudices. "And what about you?"

This time, he just shrugged. "I'm half and half."

"Oh," she said. Like Severus, she thought. Severus, too, would have waited for her. "Well, we should get going," she said, heading toward the portrait hole with a hopeful smile.

Remus moved faster than she would have given his sickly appearance credit for, pushing open the portrait hole before she could reach it, and saying, "Ladies first."

"Such a gentleman," Lily laughed as she stepped through. Now _that_ was something Severus had never done.

"My mum would be disappointed in me if I wasn't," Remus replied as he followed her through.

"Well, Peter said you were considerate," she said with a smile. Then she froze. "Oh, no. Peter!"

Remus looked at her with concern. "What? What is it?"

"He's gone to the hospital wing to check on you," Lily explained.

Although she wouldn't have thought it possible, Remus paled even further than before. "Why?" his voice was barely a whisper.

"Because he was worried about you," Lily answered, growing more concerned about his pallor. "Are you sure you're alright?"

For a moment, he simply blinked at her. Then he responded, "Yes, yes. I'm fine."

"You're very pale," Lily told him, and the truth was, she had never seen anyone look that pale before. It was alarming. "Perhaps you should head back to the hospital wing."

Remus, however, simply waved a hand and attempted a smile. "Just winded, I suppose. Illness and all." Then he abruptly changed the subject and started walking again. "How did Peter do in the last Charms class, by the way?"

"He was brilliant," she told him as soon as she decided to accept his sudden and perplexing shift in topic. "We learned Sticking Charms, and he told me that he charmed a piece of parchment to stick to Potter's back. It said 'Kick Me' on it."

Remus laughed, and it was a deep, breathy chuckle. "He didn't!"

"He did," insisted Lily. "Sadly, Black caught it before anyone had a chance to kick him, but neither of them knew that Peter was the one that did it."

"I'm sorry I missed it," Remus said, still chuckling. "I never would have imagined he'd go through with it."

"Go through with it?" Lily asked, surprised. "You mean it was planned?"

Remus' pale cheeks took on a shade of pink, and he looked down at his feet as they walked. "Well, not really _planned_ so much as _mentioned_." He smiled bashfully. "We sort of went through the list of upcoming charms, and for each one, Peter kept coming up with ways of pranking our roommates. I actually came up with a pretty nice prank for the Colour Changing Charm. Not that I was planning to use it, of course," he added hastily.

Lily could only stare at him as they continued down the corridor. This boy was not quite what she had been expecting. Already, she could tell that he was of a much brighter spirit than Severus, although he was as evasive about his health as Severus had been about his family when they had first met. Knowing well what Severus had kept hidden for so long, she couldn't help but wonder if there was something more to Remus's recent stay in the hospital wing than a simple fever.

She also realized that a boy who could use a Charms text to create pranks on other students might not be as mature a person as she had hoped. Then again, he had said that he was not intending to use any of them, so maybe he was just impish in mind if not in action.

"Like I said," Remus continued after a time, "I didn't expect Peter to actually go through with the Sticking Charm plot. But I suppose you now think we're no better than Potter and Black."

Something in the tone of his voice made Lily feel instantly guilty for thinking him immature—especially after her own actions on Tuesday night. She shook her head and smiled ruefully. "Actually, I should probably tell you that I served detention with Professor McGonagall last night for something _I_ did to Black."

Remus stopped and turned to her. "Really? What did you do?" In his blue eyes she saw an odd mixture of emotions: curiosity about what she had done; disbelief that she, Lily Evans, could have done anything to warrant detention; and hope that she was something of a . . . kindred spirit, she supposed.

"Nothing even remotely clever," she admitted, and she saw the hope in his eyes diminish somewhat. "I simply emptied my goblet of pumpkin juice onto Sirius Black's face at dinner the other night."

Remus gave a snort of laughter before asking, "And what had he done to deserve such vengeance?"

"He was teasing me and Peter," she told him, omitting the fact that Remus had been included in the teasing as well. She didn't want to embarrass him by revealing that a girl rushed to his defense—or that she, specifically, had rushed to his defense.

Remus smiled. "Well, it seems, Miss Evans, that you and Peter have a common enemy," he said with mock gravity as they started walking again, and she saw that he was stroking his chin with practiced theatricality.

She giggled. "And, pray, what are we to do about that?"

Remus shook his head. "Suffer in silence, I'm afraid."

Lily gave a dramatic gasp. "Surely you don't think we're incapable of anything more _charming_ than that!"

At that, Remus gave another chuckle and said, "We shall have to see. What have we got today? Ah . . . Engorgement Charms, I believe. Hmm, perhaps we might be able to think of something."

Lily couldn't help but laugh. "I'm glad I ran into you, Remus," she said abruptly, and it was true. She was glad she had run into him the way she had, for she had learned a lot about him in a short amount of time, and she had a pretty good idea of the sort of person he was. Truth was, she liked him, plain and simple.

"You only _nearly_ ran into me," Remus corrected, garnering another laugh.

"True," she admitted. "But I like you. You're so different from the others."

Remus paused again, though they were nearly to the Charms classroom. "Peter said the same thing," he said, and Lily could tell by his tone and his expression that he was suddenly being very serious. "Am I really so different?"

Lily was momentarily taken aback by the fear she saw in his eyes. "Well, no . . . and yes," she stammered. "I mean, you're nice . . . and you're clever, but not in a 'I-need-to-let-everyone-know-just-how-clever-I-am' sort of way, like Potter and Black. After all, I didn't even know you existed until this past Tuesday, so you're pretty good at not drawing attention to yourself. But I wish I'd met you sooner because . . . well, I like you. That's all."

Remus nodded, and he seemed more at ease, although he still shifted uncomfortably. His next words explained why. "It's just that . . . well, I haven't had . . . well, _any_ friends in a long time. I'm just not . . . it's embarrassing to admit, but, I'm just more comfortable on my own and I don't always know how to act . . .well, _normally_ around others."

"Well, you're doing fine with me," Lily assured him with a smile. "And Peter, too. So I wouldn't worry." Then she frowned and asked, "But why didn't you have any friends? Didn't you go to school?"

Remus shook his head. "My mum schooled me at home," he said softly, and again, he seemed a bit paler than before. "I was . . . I was ill much of the time. Too ill to attend school. But I really don't like to talk about it." There was an earnest, almost pleading look in the brief glance he gave Lily before he looked back down at his feet.

So her suspicions about his health had been correct—perhaps it had been a relapse of some sort. Again, she smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, I won't pry," she told him. "But we should probably hurry up."

Remus glanced at his watch and his eyebrows arched up. "You're right. We're almost late."

They sprinted the remaining distance to the Charms classroom, and Lily immediately saw Peter's expression light up as soon as he laid eyes on Remus. She then took her usual seat next to Cecilia Brighton, watching as Remus sat beside Peter, who immediately began whispering excitedly to his friend.

Somehow she knew, without a doubt, that these two would be her lifelong friends.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Later that night, as he lay secure behind his bed curtains, Remus Lupin once again reflected on the strange path his life at Hogwarts was taking. A few days ago, he had been utterly content to continue on the solitary course he had traveled since that life changing night all those years ago. No one had known his name, no one had noticed his disappearances, and no one had cared about him or his feelings upon his returns. Now, in the span of a week, he had managed to gain not one, but two friends who did all those things. It was worrisome, but at the same time, Remus rather liked it. He felt less like a freak and more like a normal boy.

Well, as normal as a boy who had secretly Engorged the left foot of one Sirius Black could be. He laughed at the memory of the mayhem that had engulfed the Charms classroom earlier that day, glad that, for once, he had been a part of it—although only Lily and Peter knew as much.

Lily and Peter. They were so very different, and yet they had both managed to befriend the boy who had not had a single friend in years. Yet Peter he had known for a mere four days, and Lily only since this afternoon.

How had two people managed to shatter his solitary existence in such a short amount of time? How had he managed to go from a "me" to being a part of a "we"? And how was it that he now look forward to a month of gleeful companionship instead of a month of lonely and solitary dread?

And what would happen when the month was over, when he once again disappeared? He was grateful to McGonagall for the lie she had offered this month, but what about next month? Would he be "ill" again? Or would a member of his family have a fictional emergency? Would he have to alternate between the two fictional scenarios over the coming months? Or possibly even years?

He shook his head in the dark, dismissing his worries. He had a month to plan. A month in which to concoct a year's worth of excuses if necessary.

They would never know the truth.

They could never know the truth.


	4. Chapter 4 Severus Snape

**From Humble Beginnings: Chapter 4—Severus Snape**

_By KnightMara_

_A/N: I'm sure many of you assumed that this poor little fiction would remain unfinished, gathering electronic dust and world wide (cob)webs. But here it is, the next chapter, and with it a confession: I have found ALL of the HP characters hard to write so far. Not one seems to flow with the ease that the characters in my earlier Star Wars fiction did. I'm not sure why this is, but I am both excited and frustrated by the challenge that writing this story has presented to me. So, if you would be so kind, please keep reviewing so that I can know whether or I have met the challenge, or if it has overtaken me in a catastrophic verbal disaster. Thank you._

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It was a sad truth that there was only one person for whom Severus Snape actually cared, and that person was Lily Evans. In fact, she had been his world long before he had come to Hogwarts, and, as far as Severus was concerned, nothing could or would ever change that. It mattered little to him that she was in Gryffindor, and from what he could tell, it mattered even less to her that he was in Slytherin. They spent as much time together as was possible for two students in rival houses, and Severus would have sworn that he meant as much to her as she meant to him.

Thus, it came as something of a nasty shock when he saw her passing through the corridors of Hogwarts on her way to what was probably Transfiguration, animatedly conversing with an awkward pair of loathsome Gryffindor boys. Lily never spoke animatedly with anyone, save himself! Whenever he saw her passing to class, she was either alone or discretely following a gaggle of giggling Gryffindor girls; his Lily would never display such flamboyance as her female housemates! She was quiet, and demure, and reserved, a delicate bud that flowered only for him!

Yet there she was, her cheeks flushed and her mouth open in a laugh as she made her way through the throng of students moving to class. A pasty, pudgy boy with pale hair and beady eyes was overzealously imitating some ridiculous wand waving with his empty hand, earning further laughter from Lily. Severus recalled the boy's name was Pettigrew, and that he was a rather spongy, spineless sort—the type of boy whom Severus detested. Still laughing, Lily turned toward the other boy in her company, one whom Severus did not remember meeting before. Thin and pale, the boy was shyly sniggering into the armload of books he carried, and Severus saw, with further disgust and dismay, that Lily—_his_ Lily—was actively trying to get this boy to laugh outright in the very same manner she used only with _him_!

Severus was unaware that he had frozen in place, shocked and appalled beyond his ability to move, until the sniggering boy's gaze met his own. Pale blue eyes held his for a brief moment, during which Severus felt a bizarre ripple of empathy and fear wash over him. It lingered even after the boy shifted his gaze to Lily and indicated Severus's immobilized form. As Lily turned toward him, a smile on her beautiful face, Severus felt a surge of heat rise from the tips of his toes to the top of his head, and he spun away abruptly, anger and shame mingling to color his sallow cheeks as he hastily stalked toward History of Magic. He could hear her calling his name, but he did not turn back. He could not! All he wanted was to erase the image of her in the company of those two boys from his mind!

He had almost done so by the time he gathered up his books and parchment at the end of another boring and monotonous lecture from Professor Binns. He lingered at his seat for a moment as his Slytherin classmates made their way out of the classroom; then, as soon as he had waited long enough to ensure his solitude on his way back to his dormitory, he stood and walked to the door.

"Severus?"

At the sound of the familiar voice worriedly speaking his name, he froze just outside the classroom and spun around. Lily stood there, looking at him with more than a little concern and, blessedly, blessedly alone.

"Severus, are you alright?" she asked, a deep crease forming between her brows, a sure sign that she was very worried.

"Marvelous," he replied, his voice quiet but still heavy with sarcasm.

"Have I done something wrong?" Lily pressed, deepening the furrow between her brows.

Her genuine concern melted away his anger, but not his shame upon feeling what could only be described as jealousy. He turned and began heading toward the Slytherin common room, muttering, "No, of course not. How could you have done anything wrong?"

He heard the heels of her polished black shoes clicking upon the cold stone floor behind him as she followed saying, "Don't give me that. I know you well enough to know when something is bothering you. And something is definitely bothering you, so I won't leave you alone until you tell me."

"Planning on following me all the way to my room, then?" he huffed.

"You and I both know I won't let you get that far," Lily snorted, speeding up until she was ahead of him and stepping directly into his path. When he tried to step around her, she simply moved to intercept him again . . . and again . . . and again. "I can do this all day, you know," she quipped, flashing him a disarming smile.

Her smile always made him crack, and this time was no exception. He sighed, staring into her brilliant green eyes and feeling his heart ache. Why, oh why, did he have to care so deeply? And why did he want her to be his and no one else's? Why did the very thought of her having other people in her life make him so terribly jealous? He sighed again, and said softly, "Won't your Gryffindor friends wonder where you've gone?"

"I told them I was going to find you," she replied, and her words made him want to shrink a little. What must those boys think of him now? "And I told them not to wait for me," she continued, but left whatever else she was going to add unsaid as her green eyes widened in sudden understanding. "Oh, Severus. It's them, isn't it?"

Severus lowered his gaze from her, too ashamed to admit the truth, but knowing she knew it anyway.

"But, they're really nice," she assured him, her voice insistent and sincere. "Not at all like the other Gryffindor boys. Or girls, even. And I think they'd like you, too."

Severus stiffened and looked up at her. "I have no interest in being friends with that Pettigrew boy, thank you very much. I know his type."

Lily looked mildly appalled. "Oh, I know what he seems like at first, believe me. I didn't want to get to know him either. But he's really nice. A little unsure of himself, and he can be a bit eager for attention at times, but he's really a good person once you get past all that."

"And why would I want to get past all that?" Severus retorted. "Sounds like more trouble than he's worth. And I can't understand why you would bother."

At this, Lily crossed her arms and jutted out her chin. "Well, maybe I like looking past people's outward flaws to get to know the person underneath." Her eyes flashed meaningfully as she added, "After all, people say the same thing to me about you."

Severus knew all too well what people _said_ about him, and he was fairly sure of what other, more silent people _thought_ about him. At the same time, he still had no desire to befriend Pettigrew, in spite of Lily's words. After all, people as desperate to be liked and accepted as Pettigrew seemed to be could never be trusted or relied upon. They lacked conviction and integrity, and Severus had no need for such people in his life.

"I'm sure they do," was all he said in response, his tone hopefully conveying that there would be no further discussion on the matter of Pettigrew.

Lily took the hint. "Well, then, you're lucky I don't listen to them," she said with forced cheer. The then linked her arm around his. "So shall I escort you back to the Slytherin dormitory?"

"Do I look like I need escorting?" Severus replied with a slightly raised eyebrow.

Lily grinned. "Yes, you do. You still seem out of sorts, and I'm not letting you out of my sight until you're set right again."

Severus looked down the corridor and gave a dramatic sigh. "I don't think the walk to the common room is quite long enough for that," he said, knowing full well what Lily's response would be.

She did not disappoint. "Then, we shall have to take a long walk by the lake, and maybe past the quidditch pitch so we can laugh at all the silly players in their practice uniforms, or we could go taunt the Whomping Willow until it chases us away."

Severus grinned. "You forgot the cemetery."

"I _always_ forget the cemetery," she retorted. "On purpose."

Severus smiled back at her. Then he glanced down at his shoes nervously. "You're sure your new friends won't mind?"

Beside him, Lily huffed and squeezed his arm. "How many times do I have to tell you that _you _are my _best_ friend, and no one I ever meet in Gryffindor will ever change that?"

In spite of the fact that he had practically prompted her to say so, he was deeply moved. To hear those words out of Lily's mouth was what an unconscious part of him had been hoping for since even before that trek to Professor Binns' class. "At least once more," he said softly.

Lily giggled and, squeezing his arm even tighter, led him through the corridors and out into the fresh air.

They walked to the lake in silence that Severus found both comfortable and comforting. One of the things he loved about Lily was how she didn't always force him to talk, nor did she force him to listen to her when there was nothing really to say. She was a rare girl who could appreciate silences and simple companionship without words.

As they continued walking, however, he wondered: did her new friends share the same love of silence? Or would that be something she could share only with him? He did not have long to ponder this, for both he and Lily noticed a boy in Gryffindor colors sprinting toward them.

The boy was thin, pale, and . . . fast. His breath came out in big puffy clouds as he made his way across the grounds in the crisp November air. By the time he reached them, however, he was not even panting, and the only sign of any exertion was the pink flush of his cheeks. His blue gaze met Severus's questioning look, and there was no doubting the boy's identity. He was one of Lily's new friends, the one that was _not_ Pettigrew.

"I am so, so sorry to intrude like this," he began in a voice that sounded like he'd just gotten over a cold, and Severus was surprised to see that the boy was addressing him rather than Lily. "I just have to ask Lily a quick question."

Severus quickly glanced at Lily, and it made him wish he hadn't. His blood began to boil as Lily—_his_ Lily—blushed and looked down somewhat shyly as she answered, "Of course, Remus."

So that was it then! Of course! No wonder Lily had dismissed him as an impossible threat to their _friendship_, because she didn't view this boy as a _friend!_ She liked him. She _liked him!_ This pale, skinny boy whom Severus could not even remember meeting had somehow wormed his way into her affections! How dare he! How dare he make her blush! How dare he make her bat her eyes!

How dare he interrupt their walk!

Severus quickly stepped in front of Lily to face the boy. "Excuse me, but just who are you to come and interrupt our conversation like this? No one invited you!"

Severus had the brief pleasure of seeing the boy blanch, the flushed tinge to his cheeks fading quickly as his blue eyes widened. Before he had a chance to respond, however, Lily squealed, "Severus!"

He turned to see that it was now Lily's face that had gone red, nearly as red as her hair, as she glowered at him. Her green eyes bored angrily into his, and Severus felt himself cringe.

The boy, her _friend_, however, was the first to speak. "I'm . . . I'm really sorry," he stammered hoarsely. "I didn't mean . . . that is . . . I . . .."

"No, Remus," Lily growled fiercely. "Don't apologize! It's Severus who should be the one to say he's sorry!"

Severus let his mouth fall open for a brief moment before gasping, "Me?" He looked at the pale boy, then back at Lily. "I'm not the one who came barging in rudely!"

"We weren't even talking, Severus!" Lily argued. "We were just walking when he interrupted _politely!_ Honestly, what's gotten into you?"

"I'll just . . .erm . . . go," the boy interrupted again, much to Severus's annoyance.

"Yes, just go and stop interrupting!" Severus spat back at him. The boy obediently turned back toward the castle, but Lily once again squealed, "Severus!"

When Severus looked back at her, he was surprised and angry to see she was already moving past him. "No, wait, Remus!" she added without looking at Severus. "I'll go with you!"

The boy turned back around and said, "No, Lily. It's not that important. I didn't mean to cause a fuss. I'll just . . . I think you two should get this sorted."

Severus fumed. "Not that important?" he snarled.

Lily turned her head so fast that the ends of her red hair whipped him in the face. "Severus, why are you acting like some stupid, jealous boyfriend?"

"I'm not acting like anything," Severus argued. "I'm just wondering why this boy has the right to interrupt our walk!"

"His name is Remus Lupin, Severus," Lily countered, "and he has every right to walk these grounds and talk to whomever he wants. Just like you. Just like me. You don't own our little walks, Severus." She then spun back around and stormed toward the castle.

The boy—Remus Lupin—stared after her before looking back at Severus apologetically. "Look, I'm sorry . . . I'll . . . I'll get her to come back."

"Just shut up!" Severus spat at him. "I don't need your pathetic apologies." He then turned and walked in the opposite direction, toward the forest. He walked quickly, trying to get his temper under control, but nevertheless, he felt the sting of unshed tears in his eyes as he passed the greenhouses, and he had to fight the urge not to smash in one of the glass panes.

He was furious—not at Lily for getting angry with him and storming off, but at himself for allowing his jealously to get the better of him. He had never behaved so . . . so . . . unrestrainedly. It was not like him to lose his head over anything, or anyone. And to lose his temper so . . . mortifyingly . . .. He slowed his pace and hung his head. How would he ever look Lily in the face again? How could their friendship survive after this?

Damn that Lupin and his bloody interruptions! This was all his fault!

The next several days were lonely and miserable. With nothing but his lessons to occupy his time, Severus had several hours to think about what had happened. His emotions on the matter alternated between fury at himself for his handling of the situation, and fury at Lupin for starting the whole mess in the first place. And while Severus knew someday, somehow he would patch things up with Lily and all would be forgiven, he also knew that he would probably never forgive that ridiculous boy for this whole occurrence. After all, it wasn't just the ludicrously humble attitude that the boy had assumed while barging in on their walk, nor the irritating stammer he'd had when speaking; no, what really infuriated Severus was the reaction the Lupin boy had received from Lily. And as young as he was, Severus still recognized deep inside that the one thing he truly hated about Lupin was the one thing for which Lupin was technically not responsible. Yet, that didn't make him hate the boy any less.

His hatred seemed to reach its peak when a piece of paper folded into a design resembling the shape of a muggle airplane came whizzing by his head to land directly in his mashed potatoes at dinner. Carefully removing bits of potato from its creases, he unfolded it to see a brief note written in tidy, unfamiliar handwriting.

"_Severus, please meet me in the library at 7 o'clock. R.L."_

R.L. Remus Lupin.

Severus quickly balled the note in his fist, feeling a few random bits of potato ooze between his fingers. Why would that lousy Lupin boy want to meet him in the library? What more could the bumbling fool possibly have to say? He glanced angrily toward the Gryffindor table, but he saw no sign of Lupin. Nor did he see Pettigrew or Lily.

Surely the three of them weren't plotting some sort of ambush in the library!

Looking down at his watch, he realized that it was nearing seven o'clock. Should he go? What if Lily was actually waiting for him? What if Lupin simply wanted to talk? And what could he possibly want to talk about? What if it were some sort of wicked, Gryffindor trick to lure the poor Slytherin first year out on his own?

With a grimace, he rose from the table and headed toward the library. It would be better to face whatever awaited him than to continue to wander about, miserable, furious, and uncertain all by himself.

Steeling himself for whatever lay ahead, he entered the library and looked around. Aside from a group of fifth years huddled at a few scattered tables, it was relatively uncrowded, and, therefore, easy to spot the pale first year who was pacing nervously and running a hand through his hair. As Severus began walking toward him, the boy seemed to almost sense his approach and stopped his pacing, spinning about to face him.

"Oh, I . . .erm . . .I was . . . well, I didn't think you would come," Lupin stammered nervously.

"Yes, well I'm here," Severus replied, already annoyed by the other's inability to speak a single, coherent thought. "What is it?"

Lupin ran a hand through his hair again, obviously agitated and uncomfortable. "It's Lily," he said after a pause during which Severus resisted the urge to strangle him. "I mean, she's miserable."

"Yes, well whose fault is that?" Severus snapped in reply.

Lupin blinked at him. "Well, ours, I suppose."

"_Ours_?" Severus pressed. "Don't you mean _yours?_"

"Mine?" Lupin asked, clearly taken aback.

Severus narrowed his eyes at the other boy and said, "Well, if you hadn't been so inconsiderate, none of this would have happened."

Lupin blinked at him again, a look of disbelief on his face before saying, "Fine, alright. I was inconsiderate and I interrupted you and I . . ." he suddenly broke off. Then, shaking his head he blurted, "No. No, this is ridiculous. No, it was not all my fault, Severus. And I will not bear the responsibility for your fight with Lily simply because I wanted to ask her a question."

For a moment, Severus simply stared at him, and he found that he was both pleased and angered. So this Lupin was not as spineless and pathetic as his stammering and his friendship with Pettigrew would suggest, which made Severus feel slightly better about Lily's choice to befriend him, but also worse because Severus did not want anyone else to possibly deserve her friendship. He decided to push back. "But if you hadn't interrupted, Lily would not be miserable."

"She's miserable because _you_ flew off the handle," Lupin argued. Severus opened his mouth to contradict him, but Lupin continued, "And she ended up yelling at you, so now you're both miserable and angry, and it's all just stupid and pointless and needs to be set right."

"And how do you suppose that will happen?" Severus sneered.

"By swallowing your pride for a moment and talking to her," Lupin insisted. "Apologizing, even."

"Why doesn't she apologize?" Severus scoffed.

"Oh, for the love of . . . you're her best friend, Severus!" Lupin exclaimed in what would have been a shout had they not been in the library. "I'm sure by now you know she's got a temper to match her fiery hair! The longer you don't apologize, the madder she's going to get, the less likely she is to apologize, and the more miserable everyone is going to be." Lupin sighed, running his hand through his hair again. "Look, I'm sorry I upset you. Really, I am. I promise, I'll leave you and Lily alone the next time I see you together. No matter what. I swear it."

For several long moments, the two boys just stared at one another, and, once again, Severus was struck by something disturbing in Lupin's gaze. It was as though somewhere beneath that blue gaze was a kindred spirit, a tortured soul striving to make a connection with the one it recognized buried deep within Severus's own black-eyed stare. A feeling of empathy and an unexplained dread washed over him, and he knew almost without knowing that there was something very, very different about this Lupin boy. He shuddered involuntarily, but as he did, he saw Lupin grow slightly paler. The blue gaze faltered, almost as though he feared Severus were reading his thoughts.

"I . . . I have to go," Lupin mumbled, and the boy headed quickly toward the library doors.

Severus almost let him go, but there was something he needed to know. He hurried after Lupin and stopped him at the door. "Just tell me why it's so important to you, Lupin. Why do you care if Lily and I are angry with each other?"

Lupin refused to look at him, but he answered, "I told you, she's miserable."

A part of Severus was telling him to leave it at that, to accept Lupin's answer and leave the real question unasked. Perhaps it was the kindred spirit awakened in him, or perhaps it was his own curiosity, but he ignored that part of him and plowed ahead. "But, if she stayed angry with me, you could have her all to yourself."

At this, Lupin's gaze did come up, and, to Severus's surprise, he looked horrified. "No, I couldn't," the boy croaked, his entire countenance bleak, before disappearing down the corridor.

Severus was more than a little perplexed by the response, but he knew now, without a doubt, that Lupin had secrets—secrets that were possibly even darker than his own. It was clear, too, that Lupin cared deeply for Lily; and yet, he seemed afraid.

How interesting.

He turned and headed toward the Slytherin common room. As much as he was loath to admit it, Lupin was right. He needed to apologize to Lily if things were to ever be right between them, and he would need the rest of the evening to formulate an apology that would pacify Lily without letting Lupin completely off the hook.

----------------------------------

Alone that night, safely ensconced in his curtained, four-poster bed, Remus Lupin wept. He wept for relationships he could never have, for emotions he could never express, and for secrets he could never share. For this past month at Hogwarts had given him more than he had ever expected to have in his entire life: he had friends, an education, and a safe and relatively comfortable place to transform. But in giving so much to him, this past month had also revealed so many, many things that he could never, ever have—things that, before now, he had never even known he would want.

And so, he wept.


	5. Chapter 5 Sirius Black

**From Humble Beginnings: Chapter 5—Sirius Black**

_By KnightMara_

_A/N: I was on a roll. Again, reviews would be lovely._

_- - - - - - - - -_

There were two undeniable facts that one had to know if one was to truly understand Sirius Black: first, he was an elder son in the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, and second, he resented the first fact. He had been born into wealth, privilege, power, and station, but, while he loved all of those things, he detested the family that came with it. One might argue that the word "detest" might be a bit too strong to describe one's feelings toward his or her own family, but Sirius would have to disagree.

No, Sirius Black detested the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

That very idea was, in fact, the only notion going through his head as he sat at breakfast and pored over yet another scathing letter from his mother. He was not yet into his fourth month of school, but this already was the seventh letter he had received, and not one of these letters had been even remotely close to being a loving mother's missive to a son. The first had come on the very night of his sorting, and it had, of course, related the bitter disappointment their son's placement in Gryffindor had caused Orion and Walburga Black. The second had arrived less than a week later, and had expressed the shame and disgust they had felt upon hearing that, not only was their son enjoying his placement in aforementioned house, but he was also associating with blood traitors. This, no doubt, had been in response to his rather rash decision to insult his cousin Bellatrix while in the company of James Potter. The third and fifth letters had been vicious diatribes espousing the extreme revulsion of Orion and Walburga Black upon hearing that their son had been placed in detention with the previously mentioned blood traitor for hexing members of his own family between classes. While again teaming up with James to first hex the eyebrows off Bellatrix and then turn Narcissa's hair pink had been rather fun, the letters had soured both occasions. The fourth letter had merely been a rather nastily worded "plea" for her son to behave himself, which had little impact, given the incident provoking the fifth letter. The sixth letter quickly followed the fifth, and had been a threat to cut off all holiday privileges if he did not show drastic improvement in attitude and behavior. As he and James had recently been sent to detention once again for practicing Singing Charms on the Slytherin quidditch team's brooms (and what a jolly quidditch practice those Slytherins had, mind you), he had been expecting this seventh letter.

The fact that he'd been expecting it did not make it any easier to bear. It very brutally stated that his family did not want to have anything to do with him over the winter holiday, and that he was to spend this first Christmas of his Hogwarts years in Gryffindor, "that shameful house in which no true, pureblood wizard worth his wand would care to spend a minute, much less an entire school year." That last bit had been the nicest part of the letter, and Sirius had found his eyes burning as he read the much nastier parts, especially when his mother had called him "the shame of my loins." There was nothing in the entirety of the letter to suggest that his mother did not truly regret giving birth to him, at least while she had been writing the letter, and the very notion that a mother could feel such loathing toward her own son was what finally brought Sirius Black to his breaking point.

He pushed himself away from his uneaten breakfast and left the Great Hall without a word to James, as he was too focused on getting somewhere secluded before the tears started to fall. No one would see Sirius Black cry, not his housemates and especially not the vile cousins seated at the Slytherin table. His vision was already beginning to blur, however, so he needed to disappear, and fast. He also needed to find a place where James was not likely to look for him. There was only one option.

The girls' toilet. Moaning Myrtle's toilet, to be exact.

He and James had come across the ghost and her leaky bathroom on one of their many rampages through the castle, and while James had wanted to go in and talk to the wailing apparition, Sirius had steadfastly refused. At the time, he had argued that Sirius Black would never, _ever_ venture into a _girls'_ bathroom, no matter what intriguing ghosts maybe within. His emphatic declaration had been nothing more than male posturing, but at this moment, he knew his words had ensured that James would never go looking for him there. He quickly made his way to the second floor, sloshed through the puddles that indicated that Myrtle had been in one of her moods recently, and slipped into the bathroom.

Thus it was that Sirius Black, heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, found himself skiving off classes by hiding in the girls' toilet, sobbing over a vicious and hurtful letter sent from his mother, and bitterly ignoring the many attempts at conversation made by a weeping ghost. What a pathetic picture he now made! He had never been more depressed in his entire life!

He was not really sure how long he'd been crying by the time his tears were spent, but he knew it was long enough that he had definitely missed most, if not all, of his morning classes. Each time he had thought he was finished, a new pang would seize his chest, and he would begin anew. He hadn't known that a single person could cry so much, and for so long, but none of that mattered in the face of the crushing despair that washed over him, wave after wave, tear after tear, as he stared at the now dampened letter in his hands. At length, he balled the offending piece of parchment in his fist and flushed it, deciding he had finally had enough of his mother's words and the pain they had caused.

As soon as it had completely disappeared, he wiped his eyes with exhausted satisfaction. Wearily trudging out of the cubicle in which he'd locked himself, he crossed the bathroom to the mirror, and stared at his reflection.

It was awful. His eyes were so red-rimmed and puffy that the bloodshot whites were almost hidden. His cheeks, too, were puffed and blotchy, making his reflection nearly unrecognizable. This was no aristocratic heir to one of the most powerful wizarding families in Britain. No, this was a sad, sorry little boy who had spent the better part of the morning weeping uncontrollably like a girl because that same powerful wizarding family wanted nothing to do with him. He sniffed, wiped away the last of the tears that leaked out of his eyes in reaction to his own miserable reflection, and turned on the faucet to splash his face with cold water.

The water helped to cool his flushed face, but he knew he was still a sorry sight even after several dousings. His eyes remained puffy and bloodshot, although the redness in his skin had faded back to normal. Anyone looking at him, however, would easily be able to tell that he'd been crying, and he knew it would take a bit more time for his face to return to normal. Not wanting to wait it out in the girls' bathroom, Sirius figured it would be safe to return to Gryffindor tower, as everyone should still be in their classes, and he could avoid being seen for a while.

Shaking his head so that his dark hair provided something of a curtain around his face, he cautiously stepped out of the bathroom and into the corridor. As he had hoped, it was silent and empty, a sure sign that lessons were still going on and that the way to Gryffindor tower would be completely unoccupied. He kept his head down, just in case, as he made his way as quickly as possible to the portrait hole, and, finding the entire journey miraculously unimpeded, he whispered the password to the Fat Lady and slipped inside.

Just as it was outside, it was empty within the common room. Sirius Black sighed with relief and began to make his way toward the stairs. It was then that he realized that the room was not _entirely_ unoccupied.

A boy sat at a study table, his head resting face-down upon his folded right arm, and his left dangling limply at his side. The slumped posture and lack of movement had been the reason Sirius had initially missed the boy's presence, but now he paused to stare. Why was the boy sleeping in the common room instead of being in class? And why not sleep in his bed if he were going to skive off classes instead of snoozing down in the common room where anyone might find him?

And why was the boy so eerily still?

Forgetting for the moment that his eyes still bore the evidence of his tearful morning, Sirius crept toward the slumbering boy, just to make sure everything was okay, he told himself, and not out of some morbid curiosity. The closer he came, however, the more he realized that the boy was not breathing the way a normal, sleeping person breathed. In fact, it seemed that the boy was hardly breathing at all.

Sirius swallowed, wondering if he should try to wake him just to make sure he was still alive. After all, if the boy woke up angry at him, he could always claim that he was just trying to keep the boy from getting caught sleeping in the common room during classes. Deciding that was the best course of action, he nudged the sleeping boy's shoulder, and shouted, "Oi!"

The boy's head lolled sideways, revealing the pallid face of his odd, quiet roommate, the one he'd taken to calling "Loopy" only partly because neither Sirius nor James could remember his actual name. The movement, however, seemed to have been a result of the nudge, and not any voluntary action, and so Sirius nudged him again.

"Oi, Loopy! Wake up, mate," he said rather loudly, but the boy remained unresponsive. Sirius felt his heartbeat quicken and a dull humming in his ears as he realized that something was seriously wrong. "Bollocks," he murmured, shaking the boy's shoulder and hoping for a response. When he didn't receive one, he swore again. "Shit, don't be dead!"

The other boy, however, still didn't move, and now Sirius was beginning to panic. He didn't know this kid—had never even had a proper conversation with him, as far as he could remember—but the thought that he might be dead, here, alone, in the common room, was utterly terrifying. Sirius tried to quell his rising fear and remember how one checked to see if a person was dead or not. The kid didn't look like he was breathing, but maybe he was . . . just faintly. Not knowing what else to do, Sirius stuck his fingers beneath the boy's nostrils and waited.

There it was! A slight puff of air. Not much, but at least the boy was still alive. He returned to shaking the boy's shoulder. "Loopy, wake up, mate! Come on, Loop. Don't make me find McGonagall and try to explain how I found you passed out in the common room!"

At last, a movement! The boy's eyelids fluttered, and he seemed to draw a slow shaky breath. Sirius, for his part, let out his own breath in a relieved sigh, not caring that it was right in the boy's face, ruffling the boy's light brown fringe.

The boy opened glazed eyes, blinked about, and slowly sat up. Sirius saw him wince as he straightened his back and looked around. He was truly, frighteningly pale.

"You alright there, mate?" Sirius asked him, knowing full well that he wasn't, but not knowing what else to say.

The boy's eyes found Sirius, and for a moment they settled there, as though he were trying to comprehend what had just been asked. Then, slowly, he nodded.

Sirius was, of course, skeptical. "Do you know where you are?"

The boy looked around him. "Common room," he whispered, his voice reminding Sirius of two dried leaves softly scraping together.

Well, at least Loopy was aware of his surroundings. "What happened? How come you're here and not in class?"

A vague sort of frown settled on the other's face as he looked around the common room again, then back down at himself. "I think I passed out," the boy mumbled eventually, hanging his head.

"Should I take you to the hospital wing, then?" Sirius asked, thinking that it might be rather interesting to see in person the place to which he'd sent so many hexed Slytherins.

The boy, however, shook his head while keeping his head down "Just came from there," he explained softly and slowly. "Was there last night."

"Well, maybe you should go back," Sirius suggested.

Again, the other shook his head. "Pomfrey told me to get some sleep. Couldn't make it up the stairs, I guess." He looked back up at Sirius. "I remember sitting here to rest a minute, but then . . . nothing." He gave a weak shrug and an even weaker smile.

"Oh," replied Sirius rather unhelpfully. He actually wasn't sure what he should do to help, or what was even wrong, so he decided to ask, "Well, why were you in the hospital wing?"

Instead of answering, the boy got shakily to his feet, swayed a little before finding his footing, and simply waved Sirius off. "I just need sleep," he slurred as he made his way slowly across the common room to the stairs that led to the boy's dormitories.

After watching the boy's weak and halting progress for a few moments, Sirius crossed to his side and, taking the boy's left arm said, "Here, let me help you up the stairs." He felt the boy stiffen and heard his sharp intake of breath as Sirius draped the arm over his shoulder, revealing that, for whatever reason, Loopy was in pain.

Loopy, however, pretended otherwise and assured him, "I'm sure I can make it on my own."

Sirius snorted. "No way. You'll get halfway up the stairs before you tumble all the way back down, and then who'll take the blame? None other than yours truly, prankster extraordinaire and disreputable member of the Family Black, who just happens to be the only person beside yourself in the Gryffindor common room during lessons." He frowned, abruptly recalling the reason he was here in the first place. "And I'm in enough trouble as it is."

Loopy turned his head to look at Sirius, and a sly grin crossed his wan face even as he allowed Sirius to support his weight. "Finally get kicked out of Potions, then, did you?"

It wasn't the question itself that made Sirius pause and do a double take of the boy who, at this point, was heavily leaning against Sirius rather than standing on his own. Rather, it was the way it had been asked. It wasn't accusing, it wasn't shocked, and it wasn't serious. Rather, it had been rather teasing. Did this pale, quiet roommate have a sense of humour? Was he actually trying to make a joke?

Sirius decided to respond in kind. "I'll have you know that Sluggy would never kick me out of Potions," he said with a short laugh. "He still thinks I'm in Slytherin!"

The pale boy half-coughed and half-wheezed what sort of resembled a laugh, and, judging from the grin on his face, it was.

Sirius smiled in return, forgetting for the moment the tears he had shed just a short time earlier. He helped the boy up the stairs to the dormitory landing, allowing Loopy to pause to catch his breath.

"Thanks," the boy panted. "You really didn't need to."

Sirius gave a short bark of a laugh. "Bollocks! You know I did, and don't you dare deny it."

Loopy leaned against the doorjamb and replied, "Yeah, but you could have left me down in the common room. Or let me tackle the stairs on my own." He shrugged his shoulders. "It's not as though we're friends or anything."

Sirius, too, shrugged his shoulders. "No, but we're roommates. And Gryffindors." He stood up straighter. "And Gryffindors are all noble and brave and all that, and they help each other out, and . . ." He paused, again remembering why he was back in the dormitory in the first place. He thought about all the tears he had just shed for a family that didn't even understand who he was, or why he was in Gryffindor and not in Slytherin. He thought about being a Black, and all that being a Black entailed. He thought about being a Gryffindor, and all that was expected of members of Gryffindor House. And he thought about being Sirius, being pulled in two directions in spite of himself—wanting to be everything a Gryffindor was that a Black was not while still holding on to his identity as a Black and the love of a mother who would never be able to accept the person he truly was.

Merlin, it was enough to make his head spin.

"Are you alright?" a hoarse voice interrupted his thoughts.

Sirius blinked at the pale boy still leaning against the doorjamb, and he realized that he must have been standing there silently for quite some time. "Yeah," he answered, clearing his throat. "I was just thinking."

"Hmm," intoned Loopy with an arched brow before reaching a pale hand over to open the door. "Helpful and thoughtful in the same day," he continued as he half walked, half stumbled into the room. "A banner day for Sirius Black."

Sirius, who had been following, stopped short. "Oi! Did you just insult me?" he demanded of the boy who was still crossing the room to his four-poster. "After I helped you?"

The pale boy reached his bed and sank down on it. "I thanked you, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but then you turned around and suggested that I'm never thoughtful," Sirius retorted. "Or helpful."

"I'm sorry," replied Loopy, but to Sirius's surprise and annoyance, the boy was chuckling slightly. Sirius didn't quite know what to make of it. Then the boy added, "But are you? Are you really?"

"Of course I am," Sirius answered angrily. "Just because my last name happens to be Black doesn't mean I'm some mean, arrogant—"

"But, you _are_ mean, Sirius," Loopy interrupted quietly.

This hit his Sirius like a blow to the stomach. "I'm _what_?"

"You're mean," the other boy repeated, slowly and carefully lying down upon the bed. "You pick on students less popular than you, you hex the Slytherins weekly, you pull pranks that often humiliate others . . .." He sighed wearily. "You're mean."

Sirius felt an odd tightness in his chest, much like the one he had felt earlier while reading his mother's letter. It . . . hurt. Wait! How was that possible? How could something said off-handedly by a boy he didn't even know hurt him? Ridiculous!

Turning the hurt outward, he spat, "Well, you're—"

"Loopy?" the boy finished for him, taking whatever sting Sirius might have intended out of the remark. "Yes, I know what you and James Potter call me," he added, closing his eyes. "It's alright, though. It doesn't bother me. I've heard worse from Peeves the Poltergeist." He grinned, his eyes still closed. "Bet you've forgotten my real name."

Sirius stared at him in absolute shock. "I don't believe you," he finally managed. "I wake you up, help you upstairs, and this is the thanks I get."

Loopy opened his eyes. "Again, I said thank you." He sighed, closing his eyes once more. "But you're right. I'm in a bit of a mood, I suppose. Fainting in the common room and all that. I'm not usually this opinionated."

"Or verbal," Sirius punctuated. "Honestly, I don't think I've ever heard you say more than three words before now."

Loopy chuckled, but didn't open his eyes. "Bet you liked me better before."

Sirius snorted. "At least now I know there was a good reason not to talk to you."

"Sorry," the other replied, and this time he cracked one eye open to look at Sirius. "Look, maybe we should just pretend that this whole . . . conversation never took place. I've had a really rough night, and—no offense, Black, really—but you look like you've had a bit of a rough morning. Why don't I get some sleep, you go do whatever it was you were going to do before you found me, and we leave it at that? 'kay?" And with that, the boy rolled onto his side, drew his knees toward his chest, and shut his eyes.

Sirius would have been more than happy to leave it at that, but for what he saw when the boy shifted position. Just under Loopy's left sleeve, bound tightly about the pale wrist, was a bandage. It was the same thick gauze he'd seen wrapped around the hand of a girl who had managed to slice her hand open during Potions, and just as that girl's had been, this bandage bore the spotty, dark brown stains of dried blood. But what was such a bandage doing wound about Loopy's wrist? And just why had he spent the night in the hospital wing? And why did he faint after being sent back to his room?

Sirius knew he shouldn't stare, and he knew he shouldn't care, but he couldn't keep his curiosity at bay. He silently took a step closer to the sleeping boy and, without knowing why, searched with his eyes for a matching bandage on Loopy's right wrist. Shoved as it was under the pillow, however, the right arm was impossible to see.

"I'm not going to do a trick, if that's what you're waiting for," Loopy abruptly mumbled into his pillow, causing Sirius to jump back in alarm and embarrassment. The boy's eyes were still closed, however.

"I just," Sirius began uncertainly. "The bandages . . . what happened?"

Silence.

Then a heavy sigh. "If I tell you, do you promise not to tell _anyone_?"

Sirius nodded. Then, realizing that it would be impossible for Loopy to see his nod with his eyes closed, he stepped closer to the bed and said, "Yes."

"Do you solemnly swear?" Loopy pressed, opening tired eyes to meet Sirius's gaze.

"I solemnly swear," Sirius assured him, kneeling beside the boy's tired face.

The other boy closed his eyes again, and there was silence. After a few seemingly endless seconds, Sirius began to worry that Loopy had fallen asleep.

Then . . . "The Whomping Willow," he said softly.

Of all the things Sirius had been expecting him to say, that one had not even been on the list. He gaped for a moment, then echoed, "The Whomping Willow?"

Loopy looked up at him again and answered, "Yes, and you can't tell anyone. I feel stupid enough as it is. And I don't like attention, so the last thing I want is for people to start talking about how Loony Loopy Lupin got himself banged up walking too close to the Whomping Willow."

Sirius frowned. He was not an idiot, and Loopy—Lupin, rather—was clearly hiding something. No one "walked too close to the Whomping Willow" on accident. Then it hit him. "Petey dared you to touch the trunk, didn't he?"

"No," came Lupin's quick reply. "No, no one dared me. Peter doesn't even know what happened. He's probably worried sick because I didn't come back after dinner."

"But you tried to touch the trunk, didn't you?" Sirius insisted, knowing that Lupin would have to admit it eventually.

And after a sigh, "Yes." Lupin closed his eyes again, burying his face into the pillow. "And I really, really, really don't want anyone to know."

But Sirius really wasn't thinking about Lupin's desire for privacy at that moment. He was actually thinking about how cool it would be to try to touch the trunk of the Whomping Willow himself. He and James could even turn it into a contest. "Wicked," he murmured with a smile.

Unexpectedly, Lupin sat up wide eyed. "No, it's not wicked! It's dangerous!" He was frantic, his hoarse voice rising in pitch and volume as he spoke. "Really, really dangerous! Madam Pomfrey said . . . Madam Pomfrey said I . . . I lost a lot of blood . . . the cuts were deep . . . that's why I fainted. That's why I feel so bloody awful right now! And . . . and I was lucky! I could have lost an eye! No one should ever go near that tree! Ever! And no one can know that I tried it! No one can know that I got hurt doing something so stupid! Do you understand?"

"Okay, okay!" Sirius assured him, raising his hands placatingly and getting to his feet, shifting away from the distraught boy. "I won't tell anyone! And . . . well . . . I won't go near the tree . . . well, yet anyway." When the other boy seemed about to protest, Sirius added, "Hey, seven years is a long time to keep that sort of promise, Lupin."

Lupin, who until that moment seemed about to argue, looked somewhat confused and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Don't you mean Loopy?"

Sirius grinned and shook his head. "Not this time, mate," he said. "Sure you're loopy and all, and you're going to disagree with me as soon as I say this, but anyone who's tangled with the Whomping Willow and lived to tell the tale is a brave man who deserves a better nickname than that."

Lupin flopped back down upon his pillow and snickered. "I wasn't aware that Loopy was a nickname. I was under the impression that it was more of an insult."

Sirius shrugged. "Yeah, well," he said, trying to sound more nonchalant than he felt. "Maybe I just don't feel like being mean."

He saw a genuine, open smile spread across Lupin's face before the other boy rolled back onto his side and said, "I'm really sorry, but I'm far too tired to continue this conversation, Sirius. Getting whomped by the willow and all, you know?"

Sirius chuckled. "Yeah, well, I should probably think about going to class at some point during the day. Lunch isn't such a bad idea, either."

Lupin shut his eyes and pressed his face into his pillow with a slight, raspy laugh. "Bye, Sirius."

"Sleep well, Lupin," Sirius replied, turning toward the door.

Lupin's hoarse voice stopped him just as he was crossing the threshold. "It's Remus."

Sirius looked back. "Pardon?"

"It's Remus," the other boy repeated tiredly. "You don't call me Lupin, and I won't call you Black. Alright?"

Sirius grinned wickedly. "Fine, but only until I find a cool nickname."

He could hear Remus Lupin's groan as he left the room and shut the door behind him, and he laughed.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Hours later, Remus was rather surprised to find that Sirius Black, had, indeed, kept his word. At dinner, he had half expected James Potter to ask him all sorts of questions about the Whomping Willow, but, to his relief, Potter had been completely oblivious to him. Sirius himself gave no indication that their conversation that morning had even taken place, save for the brief, almost imperceptible nod he gave Remus partway through the meal. As it was, Remus spent the entire meal whispering the same lie about the Whomping Willow to Peter and Lily, as they had not stopped pestering him for answers since just after lunch. Peter's reaction had been much like Sirius's, but Remus had had to endure a lecture on stupidity and recklessness from Lily. They, too, swore themselves to secrecy about the whole "incident", and Remus was rather grateful for the credibility of the lie, and for Madam Pomfrey. It was she who had come up with the excuse, saving Remus the difficulty of having to come up with a lie himself, especially considering the difficulty of last night's full moon. It had been at least a year since he'd had to wear bandages after a transformation, and he'd never had to explain them away before.

At least next month's full moon would be during the holidays. He wouldn't have to worry, he wouldn't have to lie. He'd simply have to endure the transformation.

Funny how one's perceptions changed when one's circumstances did.

He walked quietly to his four-poster bed and climbed in. It was then that he noticed a small vial sitting upon his bedside table. Attached to it was a note. He plucked the note free of the spell-o-tape that had secured it and was surprised by both its author and contents.

_"Blood Replenishing Potion from Pomfrey. Told her you fainted, and she said to take it before bed. –Sirius_

_P.S. See, I can be helpful and thoughtful **twice** in one day._

_P.P.S. I don't feel as guilty about sending Slytherins to the Hospital Wing now that I've seen it. Nice digs, those. And Pomfrey's not bad either._

_P.P.P.S. Noticed you told Petey what happened. Can **he** keep a secret?"_

Remus chuckled and glanced across the room to where Sirius and Potter were tossing dirty socks at each other, completely unaware of him. He set the note back upon the table, quickly swallowed the potion, and crawled under the covers with a grin.

Circumstances were changing, indeed.


	6. Chapter 6 James Potter

**From Humble Beginnings: Chapter 6—James Potter**

_By KnightMara_

_A/N: I sort of let my inner-eleven-year-old run amok with this chapter, something I blame entirely upon my current job as a children's drama coach. Thus, I would probably subtitle this chapter, "The Silliness of Boys," as that pretty much sums it all up. _

_Again, please review, even if you hate it. Criticism is a writer's friend. Praise isn't bad either. _

_- - - - - - - - - -_

James Potter didn't go looking for trouble. Really, he didn't. Trouble just usually found him. Okay, so perhaps his friendship with Sirius Black was the equivalent of _asking_ for trouble, but James was a good boy. He was just prone to finding himself in bad situations.

Today was a perfectly good example of this. After all, he was no Potions expert. How was he to know that stirring the mixture _counter-_clockwise instead of clockwise would cause such a spectacular explosion? Or that Sirius_ had_ known, and had let him do it anyway, just for a laugh? Or that a Slytherin student would be walking by at exactly the moment of eruption and get his robes singed, making it seem like it was done on purpose? Or that Slughorn had apparently gotten up on the wrong side of the bed that morning and was in no mood for "silly Gryffindor antics"? Or that Sirius would once again benefit from misplaced house favoritism and escape any sort of punishment, while James would have to spend the evening organizing Slughorn's store of ingredients?

As James walked back from Slughorn's desk, having just received his assignment for that evening's detention, he kept his gaze on his feet to keep from making eye contact with anyone else in the class. He could hear Sirius's barely suppressed chuckles as he neared the table they shared, and he whispered, "Just shut up, Black!"

The giggles abruptly stopped, but there was still amusement in his friend's quiet, "Tough luck there, mate."

James slid into his seat, dropping his head to the table and still not looking at Sirius. "This is all your fault, you prat!" he growled under his breath. "You let me blow up my cauldron, and now I get to spend the evening in Sluggy's cupboard _and_ look forward to my mum's next Howler."

"At least she hasn't threatened to take back your Christmas presents yet," Sirius chirped.

James sat up and turned to Sirius. "Actually, she did. When she and Dad gave me the Cleansweep, she said they'd lock it up over the summer if I didn't start 'behaving like a young man.'"

"Ouch," murmured Sirius in feigned sympathy, rolling his eyes to show just how unsympathetic he truly was.

"Yeah, well she also said that _you're_ a bad influence," James quipped in return.

"Hey, I'm not the one who can't read the bloody directions, Jimmy boy," retorted Sirius. "Don't blame me for your illiteracy."

James dropped his head back down to the table and groaned, "Sod off!"

Sirius's chuckle was his only reply.

He kept his head down as his classmates began to bring their finished potions to the front of the class, and he could hear, though he didn't want to listen, the comments Slughorn made upon inspection of each one.

"Ah, Mr. Snape. Once again, you've brewed a perfect potion."

James winced.

"Hmm, Miss Dagwood, it seems a little off-colour. Next time, perhaps?"

"Why, Miss Evans, this potion is picture perfect, is it not?"

"Oh, dear, Mr. Pettigrew. I believe you added the cabbage before removing the cauldron from the flame."

"Quite nicely brewed, Mr. Todd."

"Ah, Mr. Black. It looks a bit cloudy, but I'd say it's a fine example, none-the-less."

James rolled his eyes and pushed himself back up, intending to give a mock-salute to Sirius. However, at that exact moment, another student was heading toward Slughorn's table, and James's elbow, moving upwards, collided with the vial of potion in the other student's hand. James turned just in time to see the vial topple to the floor and shatter, the contents of the potion seeping into the cracks in the stone floor.

"Oh, no!" he potion's owner croaked, and James saw that he had already dropped to his knees, searching for any salvageable remains.

"What's going on over there?" Slughorn called from the front. "Mr. Lupin, haven't you finished that potion yet?"

The boy on his knees looked up, scowling. In his hands he held several shards of broken glass, the remains of his potion vial.

James guiltily took his own empty vial and offered it to the boy, whom he now realized was his quiet roommate. "Here," he said, attempting to make up for destroying the boy's work. "Use my vial and just scoop some more of your potion into it."

His roommate stared at James a moment in surprise. Then he shook his head. "Can't," he replied, his voice a tense rasp. "I already Vanished the rest of it."

James looked at the empty vial in his hand, then up at Sirius who had nearly reached the table. Suddenly, James had an idea. He grabbed a ladle and scooped some of Sirius's potion into the vial, then handed it back to the boy, who simply stared at it.

"That's cheating," the boy whispered, his eyes wide.

"Just do it," urged James softly. "Sluggy won't know the difference."

"Mr. Lupin, don't stand there chit-chatting with Mr. Potter," James heard Slughorn say. "Bring me that potion and clean your station. There's not much time before class is ended, lad."

Looking pale and uncertain, "Mr. Lupin" turned and obediently walked toward the front of the class, James's vial filled with Sirius's potion in hand. James watched him place the vial upon Slughorn's desk.

Sirius, who by this time had returned, surveyed the mess on the floor and exchanged a look with James. Sirius was no idiot, and James could tell that he had figured out what had happened. There was a bit of apprehension in his grey eyes as he and James turned their attention to the front of the classroom.

Lupin stood still as a statue while Slughorn examined the potion.

"Well, well, Mr. Lupin. This potion seems an improvement over your usual fare. A bit cloudy, but it seems decent."

Lupin nodded, his face revealing nothing. "Thank you, sir."

"Been studying at last, have you?" Slughorn continued with a pleased smile, holding the potion up to the light.

"Yes, sir," Lupin replied.

Again, Sirius and James exchanged looks. Although he hadn't known quite what to expect, James, at least, would not have pegged his shy, nervous, quiet roommate as such a bold-faced cheat. Most students in Lupin's position would probably have bolted back to their desks rather than stand beside the professor's desk while the potion was being inspected.

Slughorn placed the potion back down on this desk and said, "Good work."

"Excuse me, Professor," another voice called, and James looked over to see that another boy was now standing and glaring at Lupin.

Snivellus.

Both Lupin and Slughorn turned to face the greasy-haired git, and Slughorn asked, "Yes, Mr. Snape?"

"That is not Lupin's potion, Professor," Snape practically snarled.

Slughorn glanced from Snape to Lupin and back. "I beg your pardon."

"Lupin dropped his potion on the way to your desk, sir," Snape explained. "The potion he just handed in is Potter's."

Slughorn merely chuckled. "I daresay, lad, you're seeing things. Potter's potion went up in smoke, as I'm sure you recall."

"But Potter handed him that vial," Snape insisted, glaring at Lupin as he spoke.

Lupin, for his part, simply eyed Snape, but did not move. He seemed eerily calm.

"Is this Potter's potion, lad?" Slughorn asked the pale, quiet boy.

"No, sir," Lupin responded, still eyeing Snape.

"Yes, it is," Snape argued, still glaring at Lupin.

Slughorn now turned his attention to James. "Mr. Potter," he called, and James swallowed nervously. "Is this your potion?" He lifted the vial so that James could see it.

James shook his head. "No, sir," he replied honestly. Then, thinking quickly, he added, "But it is my vial. I gave it to him because he dropped his on the way to your desk, sir. It shattered, so I gave him mine." There. It wasn't a lie, but it ought to get Slughorn to simply assume that Snape had just misinterpreted what he'd seen.

"Ah, there now," remarked Slughorn with a satisfied sigh. "You see, Mr. Snape, it was merely a misunderstanding."

"I know what I saw, Professor," said Snape, refusing to back down.

James saw that Slughorn was rather perplexed by Snape's insistence, but Lupin still had not given any outward show that anything was wrong. To James's dismay, however, Slughorn had apparently decided to investigate the scene of the "crime", for he quickly strode over to the spot on the floor where Lupin's potion had fallen. No one had yet cleaned up the mess.

Professor Slughorn bent over the remnants of Lupin's potion, studied it for a moment, and then stood up, looking at the vial in his hand. "Well, Mr. Lupin, it appears that Mr. Snape is correct. The potion that remains on the floor does not match the potion in my hand." He turned toward Lupin. "Would you care to explain why that is?"

"It is not the same potion, sir," Lupin replied quietly, his face still a serene mask.

James stared at the boy in shock. Lupin could easily have lied. He could have claimed contamination or something like that rather than admit to turning in another student's potion.

Before James could ponder the odd boy's behavior, Professor Slughorn turned his disappointed gaze on James. "Mr. Potter, where did Mr. Lupin get this potion?"

Lupin, however, answered before James could. "I stole it from Sirius Black's cauldron, Professor, while he was at your desk. The vial was Potter's, but the theft was mine. I'm sorry, sir."

Slughorn, who was already staring at Lupin in what looked like a mixture of shock and disappointment, shook his head. "I do not tolerate deceit in my class, Mr. Lupin."

"Yes, sir. I know, sir," responded Lupin quietly, but still calmly facing Slughorn. "I'm sorry, Professor."

James didn't dare look at Sirius. His own mouth was agape, and he assumed that Sirius probably wore a similar expression.

Just as he had not expected Lupin to be so bold in his deceit, James had not expected the boy to be just as bold in admitting to wrongdoing he had been practically pushed into. And how, in Merlin's name, could Lupin be so bloody calm? Did he possess a sort of fatalistic lack of fear?

Slughorn was speaking again. "Detention, Mr. Lupin," he said. "And twenty points from Gryffindor."

There was a collective groan from the Gryffindor students in the classroom.

"And Professor Dumbledore shall hear of this," Slughorn added with what James could only describe as a meaningful glare, though he could not guess what Slughorn meant by such a threat. Surely, Dumbledore heard about attempts at cheating all the time.

This time, Lupin's response was merely a mute nod. He did not even bow his head in contrition.

"Return to your seat," Slughorn ordered him, and he obeyed. Then, a few moments later, during which time the class was still oddly silent, the Professor announced, "Class dismissed."

"Well, at least you won't be alone in detention," Sirius whispered in his ear as the rest of the class began to move out into the corridor. Then, abruptly, he reached across James to snag the sleeve of one of the exiting students.

It was Lupin.

Sirius chuckled. "Whomped again, eh?" he teased, giving their roommate a playful jab to the arm.

Lupin merely grinned and shrugged. Then he continued out of the classroom, a frantic Petey Pitiful trailing behind him squeaking something about bad luck and mean Slytherins.

James turned to Sirius, utterly confused. "What was that all about?"

Much to his disappointment, Sirius, too, simply shrugged. "Nothing," he said.

"Yeah, but since when are you all buddy-buddy with Loopy Lupin?" James demanded.

Sirius frowned. "Who was it that decided to give him my potion, Jimmy Boy?" he asked, rising from his seat and clearing the remains of the aforementioned potion.

James, too, stood. "Well, it was my fault he dropped it in the first place," he attempted to explain. "It was the least I could do."

"Yes, I'm sure he's grateful to you for the detention he received," Sirius retorted. Then he chuckled and said, "At least you both can whinge about the people who put you in detention. Gives you both something to talk about."

James watched him leave, his mouth gaping once again. Then, "Some best friend you are, Black!"

Several hours later, James was heading to detention in a foul mood. He'd had little desire to subject himself to Sirius's incessant teasing, and had, instead, focused on avoiding his friend at all costs. That had meant that he'd eaten practically nothing since breakfast, and now he was missing both food and his best friend terribly.

To make matters worse, the dungeons were dark and apparently empty when he arrived. He did not have a hard time finding Slughorn's office, however, but the only light came from the cupboard he had been assigned to organize. When he reached it, he saw that Lupin was already there. The pale boy was sitting cross-legged on the floor and inspecting the jars on the shelf in front of him.

He looked up at James as he entered. "Ah, good," he said hoarsely. "I would've hated to tell Professor Slughorn that you hadn't shown up."

James couldn't help but wonder if that was true. Sitting himself beside Lupin he asked, "Been here a while, have you?"

Lupin chuckled. "Only just arrived. The Professor went to go get some dinner."

"Yes, well, I'm sure it takes lots of food to keep in that shape," James found himself saying bitterly.

To his surprise, Lupin chuckled again. Then he asked, "So, how do you suppose we tackle this assignment?"

James looked around at the disorganized mass of Potions ingredients and sighed. "Dunno. I can't even keep my trunk organized." He looked back at Lupin. "Any ideas?"

Lupin looked around as well, and bit his bottom lip. "We could just pull everything off the shelves and put it all back alphabetically."

James groaned. "That'll take forever."

Rising from the floor, Lupin shook his head. "Not if we work from opposite ends of the alphabet toward the middle," he said.

"Fine," James sighed, not having any better ideas. "But I get to start with 'A'."

"Sure," Lupin agreed, and he began pulling jars, vials, canisters, and bottles from the shelves.

In no time, the two boys had managed to clear all of the shelves and were sorting through the mess on the floor to put it all back in order again.

"You know, I'm sure there's a way to do this with a simple swish of a wand," James remarked while searching for "A"s from among the clutter.

"Yeah, but none that will teach us such a valuable lesson," Lupin remarked while sorting the random ingredients that belonged to the end of the alphabet.

"Oh, you mean paying attention to the directions and ignoring your best friend during Potions to avoid explosions?" quipped James sarcastically.

Lupin laughed. "I thought it was not Vanishing the potion in your cauldron before you've handed it in."

James abruptly looked over his shoulder at the boy busily restacking the bottom shelves. "You're not even mad at me, are you?"

Lupin paused, then looked back up at James. "Why would I be mad at you? I was the one who took Sirius's potion up to Slughorn's desk as my own."

"And I was the one who told you to," James argued, not fully sure why he was pressing the issue, but feeling the urge to take some responsibility. "And I broke your vial, for starters."

To James's surprise, Lupin shrugged. "I probably deserved detention anyway for the potion, you, thankfully, destroyed."

James gave an amused snort. "Why's that?"

"Wrong color, wrong consistency, wrong odour," Lupin rattled off. "Wrong everything." He sighed. "And it's every potion, not just this one. Lily can't even figure out what I'm doing wrong."

At the mention of Lily Evans, James turned back toward the mess of ingredients, feeling a sudden, inexplicable heat rise in his neck and cheeks. The air around him always became warm whenever he thought of the pretty red haired girl, but he didn't. . . that is, he wasn't . . .. Evans had such odd companions! "So, you and Evans are friends, then, yeah?" he asked with what he hoped was a careless sort of nonchalance.

"I suppose so."

James was arranging arrowroot and asphodel as he continued, prodding, "What's she like?"

What was he doing? Why did he want to know about Evans, of all people? Sure, she was pretty, and she wasn't like the other Gryffindor girls with their silly laughs and high-pitched endless prattling. She was . . . well, cool. At least, that's how she seemed.

"Smart, kind, a bit bossy at times," Lupin replied. "But only because she cares." Lupin then laughed. "She tries so hard to help Peter and I in Potions, but I think we're hopeless cases."

"So she's the helpful sort, then?" James asked, still looking at the jars and bottles of "A"s.

"Yes," answered Lupin. "Oh, and she thinks you're a right mean git."

James whipped his head around in horror and disbelief to see Lupin grinning up at him.

"Sorry, couldn't resist," the pale boy chuckled. "Especially since she's noticed you staring at her during class."

James shook his head and turned back toward the supplies he was sorting. He didn't stare. He didn't! Did he? Deciding that he certainly did not, he muttered, "You're loony, you know that?"

"So I'm told," Lupin replied, stifling his laughter a bit. "Though, I suppose only a loony would end up in detention because he can't brew a decent potion."

James scowled without looking back at him. "Pot. Kettle. Black."

Lupin laughed again, and said, "I _was_ referring to myself, but now that you mention it . . .."

James snorted. "At least my failure was a spectacular mess," he said proudly while staring at a jar without a label. "And seeing Bulstrode's robes smoking like that was not bad either."

"That's powdered moonstone," Lupin said suddenly. "Not an 'A' ingredient."

James glanced back at Lupin and saw that the boy was pointing to the unlabeled jar. "Are you sure?" James asked skeptically.

"Yup," Lupin answered with a nod. "I'm pretty good with ingredients. I can't successfully make anything out of them, but I can tell you what they are," he added sheepishly.

James gave him a doubtful look and reached for another unmarked jar. "What's this, then?"

Lupin grimaced as he peered at the jar. "Looks like pieces of dead rat. I can see a few tails. Tails and spleens are actually the useful parts. So I've read, anyway."

Setting the jar aside rather squeamishly, James reached for yet another. "And this one?"

This time, Lupin paled a bit. "Poison," was all he answered as he went back to sorting.

James studied the jar in his hand. "Why would Sluggy have poison in his cupboard?"

"It's aconite," Lupin said by way of explanation. "Useful in very small, specially prepared doses as a fever reducer and numbing agent."

"How poisonous is it?" James asked, curious.

"Well, it's also called 'wolfsbane' because it can even kill animals as big as a wolf if they eat it," Lupin replied. "And even if you just touch it, your skin goes numb and cold."

Suddenly fearful of contamination through the jar, James put it back on the shelf among the "A"s he was sorting. "Does it kill werewolves, too?"

When Lupin didn't answer, James looked down to see the boy give what could only be described as a sad shake of his head. James felt stupid all of a sudden. After all, the stuff was called "wolfsbane," and it killed wolves. Why would he even ask? "Sorry, dumb question. I get it, it's poisonous."

Lupin merely continued sorting, which made James feel even more stupid. But then he remembered that Lupin was in detention, too, and that he had confessed to being bad at Potions. He couldn't be _that_ smart. "Okay, Lupin, I don't get it. If you know all this stuff, then why are you so bad at Potions?" he asked, confused. "It's just following directions, isn't it?"

Lupin raised an eyebrow at him. "This from Mr. Exploding Cauldron, himself?"

Lupin's quick retort both surprised and amused James, and he laughed unexpectedly. "You have a point, Mr. I Vanished My Potion Away."

"Then can we get back to work, Mr. I Can't Talk About Lily Evans Without Blushing?"

To his annoyance, James _did _blush and Lupin's teasing remark, and it was a moment before he could come back with, "Well, I don't see you working too hard, Mr. I'm Weird and Quiet and Lie to Teachers Without Batting an Eye."

"But I didn't lie," Lupin chuckled. "Technically," he added, when James stared at him incredulously. "I never actually said that the potion was mine. I only said it wasn't yours."

James couldn't remember the situation clearly enough to tell if what Lupin said was true, but he did acknowledge that only Lupin would be weird enough to think up such an argument to James's accusation. He turned back to his shelf and said, "Fine, Mr. I Lied Without Actually Lying."

Lupin smiled and continued sorting ingredients. "Much better, Mr. The Name-Calling Joke Was Dead Two Minutes Ago."

"Thank you, Mr. I Have to Have the Last Word."

"You're welcome, Mr. Beating a Dead Horse."

"Who's beating a dead horse, Mr. I Know Everything in the Potions Cupboard?"

"You are, Mr. I'm Doing Everything I Can to Keep from Working."

"Am not, Mr. Just as Guilty as the Much Funnier James Potter."

"I'll have you know that W through Z is done, Mr. I'm Still Working On the 'A's."

"Yeah, well have fun with the 'S's, Mr. I Started With the Easiest Section of the Alphabet."

"Don't complain, Mr. I Asked to Start With 'A's."

And so it went throughout the hours it took to organize the shelves upon shelves of ingredients. James had to admit that the constant flow of silly name-calling made the time pass much more quickly than he expected, even if the best they were able to come up with in the last hour was, "Mr. I Wear Glasses and a Double Windsor Knotted Tie Unlike Everyone Else Just to Impress Certain Redheaded Gryffindors," and "Mr. My Pale Skin is a Moon Tan."

It was silly. It was immature. But, it was fun. And Loopy Lupin was more than game. By the time they had reached the very last bottle, Murtlap Essence, they were both giddy with laughter, although neither of them could have explained why they were laughing so hard.

James stood rubbing his eyes and watching as Lupin stood on his tiptoes and slid the canister into place upon the shelf. "Took you long enough, Mr. I Have to Roll My Sleeves Up Just So."

"No thanks to you, Mr. I Really Need These Glasses and Not Just to Look Smart," Lupin chuckled, dropping to sit on the floor once he was done.

James followed, leaning his head carefully against the shelf and sighing tiredly. "Well, I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

"Hmm," Lupin agreed.

"We've missed dinner," James lamented.

"There's food in the kitchens, though."

James whipped his head about to stare at Lupin, nearly knocking the bottle of newt eyeballs off of the shelf. "Don't tell me you know how to get into the kitchens."

Lupin grinned. "Can you keep a secret?"

James immediately sat up straight and grabbed Lupin's elbow. "You _have_ to show me."

Pulling his arm out of James's grasp, Lupin scoffed, "Oh, do I?" But when James pulled a frown, Lupin grinned and stood. "Come on. Let's tell the professor that we've finished, and then I'll show you how to get into the kitchens."

James sprang to his feet eagerly, and after bidding a barely-awake and well-fed Professor Slughorn good-bye—and insisting that they did _not_ need to be escorted back to their common room—they made their way quietly up the stairs to the main level of the castle.

"Oh, wait," James suddenly exclaimed in a whisper as he realized they were out of bounds after dark. "We don't want to get caught," he continued as he rummaged about in his bag for his cloak.

"What are you looking for?" Lupin asked him.

James gave him a wink. "Can _you_ keep a secret?" He withdrew his invisibility cloak and saw Lupin's eyes widen.

"Is that what I think it is?" the pale boy gasped.

James grinned. "Prepare to be a ghost, Loop," he said, flinging the cloak up and around so that it covered both of them. "Now lead the way."

Together, they tiptoed past the main staircase and down a corridor to the right. It seemed to be a corridor to nowhere, leading to a large painting on the wall. But, to James's surprise and confusion, Lupin brought them right up to the painting, reached out his hand, and brushed the painting with his fingers.

The pear in the painting suddenly began to giggle, as though it were being tickled. Then, as James watched, a door handle appeared, and Lupin turned it and ushered them inside. James gasped.

There were house elves everywhere, but more importantly, there was food!

"How, in Merlin's name, did you find this?" James asked, sweeping the cloak off and noticing the curious looks the house elves gave them.

"I tend to wander a lot," Lupin replied with a faint blush. "And I read _Hogwarts: A History._"

James laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. "You, loopy sir, are my new best friend," he exclaimed. "Let's eat!"

The two boys were quickly helped and fed by several house elves that Lupin actually knew by name, and it was not long before they found themselves sated, tired, and trudging back upstairs to Gryffindor tower under James's invisibility cloak.

"I hope I never have to serve another detention with Slughorn as long as I live," Lupin groaned as they climbed the stairs.

"I'd say the same," James replied with a yawn, "but I seem to have a talent for trouble."

This earned a tired chuckle from Lupin. "I'll say."

When they reached the portrait hole, James removed the cloak and shoved it in his bag while Lupin gave the password.

A sleepy Sirius was there to greet them as they stepped into the common room.

"What took you so long?" he asked, rubbing his eyes. "It's nearly midnight."

"Sluggy has a messy cupboard," answered James with a grin. "Plus, Loopy, here, got us into the kitchens when we were done."

Sirius stopped rubbing his eyes and stared at Lupin, who was grinning sheepishly. "You know the way into the kitchens?"

Lupin nodded. "James can show you how to get there tomorrow."

"Like I'll remember," James scoffed, giving Lupin another playful punch in the arm. "No, Loop. You're just going to have to come with us and show us how to get there again."

"Ah, just what I always wanted," Lupin replied, batting his eyes sarcastically. "To be Potter and Black's Hogwarts tour guide."

"Oh, just listen to yourself, Mr. I'm Too Tired to Be Clever So I'll Just Be Sarcastic," James teased.

"I _am_ tired, Mr. I Need to Make Fun of Others to Impress My Best Friend," Lupin quickly shot back, though he smiled as he spoke.

"Go to bed then, Mr. I'm Gonna' Whinge About Detention to Evans Tomorrow in Order to Earn a Sympathy Hug," laughed James.

"Goodnight, then, Mr. I Only Wish Lily Evans Could Stand to Be in the Same Room With Me."

"Have you two been at this all night?" Sirius interrupted.

James turned to see that his friend had a confused look on his face. "Why, yes. We have, Mr. I Don't Like Feeling Left Out."

Lupin giggled and started heading for the stairs. "Goodnight, Mr. Now I've Gone and Ruined the Game By Letting Sirius In."

"Oi, don't get cheeky with me," Sirius called after him. "Mr. I'm Incapable of Recognizing the Sheer Magnificence of Sirius Black."

Laughing appreciatively, James said, "Nice one, Mr. I'm So In Love With Myself That I Want To Marry My Reflection."

"Thank you, Mr. I Wear Glasses to Seem Smarter," Sirius responded.

Both James and Lupin abruptly looked at each other and cried, "Foul! Repetition!" Then they both burst into peals of laughter, though James could not have said why it was so ridiculously funny at that moment.

Sirius, however, was pouting and looking at Lupin who now stood on the staircase. "Hey, how am I supposed to know what's already been said about Jamesey in my absence, Mr. I Have a Big Secret That Begins with a 'W'?"

It took James a moment to realize that Lupin had abruptly stopped laughing. In fact, he had sunk down to sit stiffly upon the steps, his face a frozen and unreadable mask as he stared at Sirius.

"You okay, Loop?" James asked with sudden concern, not knowing what could have happened to make the boy look like that.

Lupin, however, said nothing and continued to stare rigidly at Sirius.

"Oh, come on," Sirius laughed. "It's not that big a secret!" He moved toward Lupin and said, "Do you mean to say that during all those hours of detention, you didn't tell him about the Whomping—"

"Willow," Lupin finished simultaneously with Sirius in a sort of sigh. His whole body sagged, and he shook his head vaguely. "No, no I didn't. I didn't say anything about the Whomping Willow."

"What about it?" asked James, still eyeing Lupin worriedly. When Lupin didn't answer, he looked up at Sirius, who seemed equally confused about Lupin's odd behavior.

"Sorry, mate," Sirius said, somewhat uncertainly, as he moved closer to Lupin and sat down beside him on the stairs. "I didn't think you'd still be so touchy about it."

Lupin emitted an abrupt, raspy laugh. "I'm not, really," he told them, rubbing his forehead. "Sorry, I'm just tired. A bit dizzy from looking at bottles of potions ingredients al night." He smiled up at them both. "Sorry. I'm fine. Really."

James was slightly doubtful, but he decided not to press the matter. After all, he was a bit weary and off-kilter, too. He joined Sirius and Remus on the steps and asked, "So what's the big secret about the Whomping Willow?"

Sirius looked at Remus and said, "Well, I can't say because I'm sworn to secrecy."

Lupin snorted. "Yeah, good job, there, mate."

"Hey, I never said a word before now," Sirius argued.

"Am I going to hear the story, or what?" interjected James impatiently. He was getting sleepy and annoyed and wanted to know the secret already, whatever it was.

"Okay," sighed Lupin dramatically. "I'll tell you my big, dark secret."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Crawling into bed after what had to have been one of the longest days he could recall, Remus, oddy enough, smiled sleepily. He was too tired to mull over the day's events, but he was awake enough to know that his circumstances had changed once again. After spending half a year sharing a room with the despicable duo of James Potter and Sirius Black, Remus had discovered that, against all odds and expectations, he actually _liked _them. They were amusing and genuine, well, once one got past all the pompous posturing.

And even more surprising, they actually seemed to like him as well.

His grin widened as he listened to the sounds of the dormitory in the darkness. Peter was snoring, Sirius was rustling the bedsheets, and James had just set his glasses upon his bedside table.

"G'night, James," he heard Sirius mumble.

"'Night, Sirius."

"Whomp, whomp, Remus."

Remus chuckled. "Goodnight, Sirius."

"Later, Loopy."

"Sod off, James."

A trio of muffled laughs filled the darkness, and at length, the three boys drifted off to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7 Minerva McGonagall

**From Humble Beginnings: Chapter 7—Minerva McGonagall**

_By Knight Mara_

_A/N: Sorry for the looooong hiatus between this and my last post. I wasn't sure just how many chapters this story would have when I began writing, and I still have no idea, really. I kind of like the idea having a story that isn't so much a story as it is a series of little vignettes from various perspectives, making it somewhat limitless. Therefore, until I run out of ideas, this little story will continue to be "under construction." (I.E. I'll keep posting until the story suddenly changes status to "Completed.")_

_I would like to thank "SiriusHarryPotter" for inspiring this chapter, as I really had no intention of writing from the perspective of teachers before your review suggested it. _

_Enjoy. And if you do, review. If you don't, review anyway. Tell me what you hated. I can take it. _

_- - - - - - - _

The empty seat next to Peter Pettigrew seemed to glare at her accusingly, chiding her for the one task that had somehow slipped her mind before the Monday morning First Year Transfiguration class. Of course, she, herself, could not be truly faulted for the oversight. After all, handling the explosion of dungbombs in the Gryffindor common room that very morning had required a great deal of her time and attention, not to mention the fact that Horace had signed for his team's use of the quidditch pitch during Gryffindor team's scheduled practice. By the time she'd handled the common room situation and dealt with Mr. Longbottom's indignation over what he had called "underhanded Slytherin scheming", Minerva McGonagall had barely enough time to get to her own class. As it was, she had missed breakfast entirely.

That was not all she had missed, as the empty seat was so blatantly reminding her.

She had not simply forgotten. Good heavens, no! One did not _forget_ such things! After all, the boy was not only her student, but also a member of her house—no, one did not forget such things! She had known the precise moment when he had reported to the hospital wing, and she had fretted about him over a late night cup of tea. Yes, she had been quite aware of what night it was and what it meant for the pale, shy little boy for whom Albus had made her responsible during the school year.

Thanks to the events that had transpired since sunrise, she had not, however, paid what she mentally referred to as her "morning-after visit" to Madam Pomfrey to determine the boy's condition. It had become something of a monthly routine ever since that first Monday morning in September, only a week after the start of term, when she had rushed down to the hospital wing at daybreak to ascertain the status of Hogwarts's secret resident werewolf. She recalled having grave misgivings about Albus's decision to allow such a student admission, and that first visit had been as much the result of morbid curiosity as it was her duty as head of house. Each month since, however, she found herself more and more compelled to check in on him as early as possible. As the boy's teacher, she found it helpful to know just how long he was expected to miss classes and whether or not he would be able to complete any assignments before his return; as his head of house, she found that knowing the boy's condition made her less prone to worry when she should be focused on other things.

For example, had she visited this morning, she should have been focused on the six legs Mr. Black's button had retained from its previous existence as a beetle instead of worrying about what might have occurred the previous evening.

At least she knew that nothing too terrible had happened. Had the werewolf escaped or the boy grievously injured himself, she would have been notified by Albus immediately—monthly visits to the hospital wing had naturally become routine for the Headmaster, as well.

Now, however, she would have to wait until after the lesson to learn all those little details she would rather know already.

She watched Niamh Flynn's button take flight and strike one of the snow-covered windowpanes, and she found herself wondering if the safe house had been warm enough last night. Of course, Albus had warded it to keep a werewolf safely imprisoned within it, but had the structure been able to keep the chill of a late-January evening without? Might the poor, sickly-looking boy have taken cold?

She shook her head, straightened her glasses, and mentally chided herself for allowing her thoughts to drift. After all, what sort of professor would allow her worry over the wellbeing of a werewolf to distract her when there was a class full of normal, healthy, innocent wizards and witches needing her guidance and instruction? And speaking of needing guidance and instruction, Peter Pettigrew seemed unable to manage anything further than giving his beetle buttonhole shaped spots.

Then again, Mr. Pettigrew seemed nearly as distracted by the empty seat as she was.

Enough of these distractions! It was time for her to do her job. Moving from her desk, she began making her way among the students, assisting and correcting them when needed and praising when warranted. She was, admittedly, a bit sharp with young Mr. Potter when he pulled the antennae off of his button instead of transfiguring them away, but the rest of the lesson passed uneventfully. Even Mr. Pettigrew managed, after his rather rocky start, to turn his beetle into a lovely, shiny black button.

"May I keep it, Professor?" he asked after receiving top marks for the assignment.

"Are you lacking buttons, Mr. Pettigrew?" she replied almost instinctively, wondering why on earth a first year boy would want to keep a transfigured beetle. She felt a small trickle of guilt when the boy's cheeks colored.

"Oh, n-no, Professor," he stammered. "It's just, it's my first 'O', Professor." He positively beamed as he looked down at the button in his palm.

Minerva studied the boy for a moment. He was truly delighted with his work, that much was obvious; and, in truth, she could not recall giving him anything higher than an "E" thus far. She was not, however, in the habit of giving students souvenirs.

He must have seen that she was leaning away from allowing him to keep the button, because he added, "And I wanted to show it to Remus."

There it was. The one thing that could have changed her mind, the one thing that, given the circumstances of the morning, could practically guilt her into acquiescence, and the boy had said it.

"Very well, Mr. Pettigrew," she said somewhat tightly. "You may keep it."

The boy's smile nearly split his face in two. "Thank you, Professor!" he exclaimed, pocketing the button. "He and I have been studying together, you see," he continued, "and, well, it's because of him that my marks have improved. He's aces at Charms and Transfiguration, but of course you already know that, Professor. But he'll be tickled to see this!"

It was the sort of rambling chatter that was her least favorite part of teaching, but today, she neither walked away from the prattling boy, nor did she silence him with one of her brusque remarks. Instead, she smiled and nodded at him rather absently, her mind not on his words but on the thoughts they evoked.

As much as she had initially worried for the safety of the other students in the presence of a werewolf at Hogwarts, she had worried about the werewolf's ability to socialize with those same students. For those first two months, she appeared to have been right to worry about the latter, especially when that first full moon had proved that Albus's safety precautions had ensured the protection of everyone except the poor werewolf himself, who had suffered quite a number of self-inflicted injuries. Those, however, seemed to pale in comparison to the suffering the boy had endured as a result of the wall of isolation he seemed to have built around himself. For two whole months, the boy never interacted with another student in his classes, never even spoke; if anything, he had seemed to fear any form of contact with his peers.

Since then, she had seen him slowly begin to form a few fragile, tenuous connections, starting with the one he'd forged with young Pettigrew. It had taken her rather by surprise that day when Pettigrew had first asked after him in the Great Hall. Until that moment, Minerva had wondered if any of the other students even knew that the Lupin boy existed. Lily Evans, too, seemed on friendly terms with him, and Minerva was delighted that the young werewolf had not only found companionship, but also had proven to be a positive influence on the Pettigrew boy—quite an unexpected situation, Minerva herself had to admit.

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she moved away from Pettigrew and continued to assess her other students until it was time for dismissal. The students all grabbed their belongings and filed out, Black and Potter making quite a bit of unnecessary noise as they exited the classroom, and Minerva soon found herself staring at an empty classroom and a free hour. Knowing the rest of her day would continue along the same path as her first class if she did not rectify the situation her chaotic morning had created, she made a decision.

"Enough of this foolishness," she muttered to herself as she gathered her tartan shawl from the back of her chair and swept from the room, locking the door behind her.

There were students everywhere in the halls, all making their way to their next class, and Minerva had to weave her way among the throngs of tiny beings who would undoubtedly—

"Professor McGonagall," a small voice piped from somewhere near her elbow. "May I speak with you a moment?"

"Get to your class, Miss Smith," Minerva responded shortly.

"But, Professor," the young girl pressed.

Minerva continued walking. "You may speak with me later. Now, get to class."

"Professor!" another voice called.

Minerva resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose. "Not now, Longbottom."

"But have you talked to Professor Slughorn yet, Professor?"

"Not now, Longbottom!"

"Yes, Professor."

At length, the crowds thinned, the questions disappeared, and she was able to breathe a sigh of relief as she neared the relative quiet the hospital wing.

"Will you two stop following us!" a very young, very irate voice from somewhere up ahead exclaimed.

Minerva frowned. So much for quiet.

"We're not following you, Evans!"

This time, Minerva did pinch the bridge of her nose. That was most definitely the voice of James Potter, which only meant that Sirius Black was also present, as was, it seemed, Lily Evans. This could only mean that mischief was about to ensue. At this rate, she would never make it to the hospital wing to check on the poor Lupin boy.

"If you're not following us, then why are you walking as fast as we are in the same direction that we're going?"

"Mind your own business, Evans!" Yes, indeed, Black was with them.

Potter added, "What's it to you, anyway, where we go?"

"Shouldn't you be going to Charms?" Evans demanded.

"Shouldn't you?" retorted Black while Potter scoffed, "Worried about us, are you?"

Minerva rounded a corner and saw them moving quickly in the direction of the hospital wing. The two black-haired boys were trailing after Lily Evans and . . . oh, that explained part of what was going on. Peter Pettigrew was walking with Evans, which could only mean that the two of them were on the same mission as Minerva herself. But, surely, they couldn't know the truth, even if they did know where Lupin now was. Had the boy lied and told them he had taken ill?

"Just leave us alone!" Evans shouted moving ever more quickly.

"Why don't you leave _us_ alone?" Black snapped back.

Minerva quickened her pace as she approached from behind. "Black, Potter, Evans, and Pettigrew!" she called out. The four students froze, then slowly turned around, each face etched with its own unique reaction to her presence. Pettigrew's sported sheer terror, Evan's grim annoyance, Black's aristocratic antipathy, and Potter's a charming smile that was clearly in place to mask the fear and annoyance that glittered in his hazel eyes. "May I ask what the four of you are doing here when you should be on your way to Charms?"

"Well, you see, Professor," Potter began, but Evans quickly cut him off.

"We were on our way to look in on a friend between classes when these two started following us, Professor!"

"That's a lie!" Black spat, his face still cold but his grey eyes blazing at Evans. "We were on our way to the hospital to deliver some notes to a friend of ours."

Evans seemed unfazed by his glare. "Since when do you take notes, Black?"

It was Potter who responded to Evans. "Since Loopy asked us to." He then looked back at Minerva, his smile widening for her benefit. "Well, he didn't really ask us to. We offered, actually."

"Loopy?" echoed Evans incredulously.

Black responded through tight lips, "Lupin."

"Remus," Potter added. "He's sick."

Both Evans and Petter looked somewhat bemused that Potter and Black would know such a thing, let alone care.

Minerva glanced at the two troublemakers and extended her hand. "Then I assume you have these notes with you now."

To her surprise, Black reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled out several neatly folded pieces of parchment. He unfolded them and handed them over, and Minerva saw that they were, indeed, carefully written notes on this morning's class. Further inspection revealed some scribbled notes in the margins that were undoubtedly Potter's and somewhat unintelligible. The only part of his scribble that she could read was written at the top: "Loony Lupin's Lecture Notes on Transfiguration." Glancing over at Potter, she noted the red tinge to his cheeks and assumed that it might be a blessing that she could not decipher the rest of his scrawl.

She folded the parchment once again, noting Black's outstretched hand, but she did not hand them back. "I will deliver these to the hospital wing. You four will get to your class."

There was a chorus of disappointed exclamations from Evans, Pettigrew, and Potter. Black's grey eyes flashed with an emotion she could not quite identify, but he remained silent.

She spoke over their protests, "You will all go to your class before I assign you all detention. And if I hear from Professor Flitwick that you arrived late, you _will_ receive detention."

There was a lot of grumbling, but the students began to move off toward Charms. Pettigrew paused a moment, digging about in his pocket until he produced his transfigured button. He held it out to her.

"Professor," he spoke timidly, "would you mind giving this to Remus?"

She looked down at him rather puzzled. "I would have imagined you would prefer to show it to him yourself."

"Oh," Pettigrew squeaked, his face turning pink. "Well, I would, but since I'm off to Charms, and you're bringing him the notes . . . well, I thought . . .." He trailed off helplessly.

Minerva could see the nervousness, uncertainty, and embarrassment in the boy's expression, so she favored him with a small smile and said, "I'm sure that after reading through Black and Potter's notes in the hospital wing, he'll be delighted to hear you tell the story and show him the button yourself, Mr. Pettigrew."

In response, the boy smiled and said with less of a squeak to his voice, "Oh, right!"

"Now off with you," Minerva told him with a slight nudge in the direction of the others.

As he trotted off to catch up with Evans, she spotted Sirius Black watching him, and she was struck by the slightly jealous, slightly hurt look in his eyes. Now that his charming smile was gone, Potter, too, wore a rather unhappy expression. She puzzled over this for a moment before she remembered the parchment in her hand.

What was it that Potter had said? Had he and Black truly offered to take notes rather than being asked?

"Mr. Potter and Mr. Black," she called out to them.

Two pairs of eyes, one hazel and one grey, met hers. Surprise, dread, and aggravation mingled in both of their gazes.

"This was incredibly thoughtful of both of you," she said, indicating the parchment in her hand. "I'm sure Mr. Lupin will be highly appreciative of the gesture."

Black merely nodded, while Potter said, "Yes, Professor. Thank you." They both then turned and ambled off in the direction Evans and Pettigrew had just gone.

Even after they had disappeared from sight, Minerva remained standing in the corridor, looking down at the folded notes in her hand while several emotions warred deep in her chest.

That the Lupin boy had befriended Pettigrew and Evans, Minerva was grateful. After all, a werewolf could really do no better than a kind—if rather awkward—boy who did not possess the type of cunning mind that might uncover the truth, and a muggle-born girl who, even if she did discover Lupin's secret, had not been raised with the same prejudices that wizarding families continued to propagate.

Black and Potter, however, were another matter. They were two of the worst mischief makers ever to set foot in Gryffindor Tower, but that had not bothered Minerva nearly as much as the disdain the two boys seemed to hold towards everyone else. They were both arrogant, occasionally mean-spirited, and fiendishly clever (Minerva was absolutely _certain_ that they had been responsible for the dungbombs this morning, although there had been no evidence to prove it). Moreover, they were both from pureblood families and would have been brought up to believe the very same things that Minerva herself had been forced to put aside when Albus announced that a werewolf would be attending Hogwarts. That these two boys might discover Lupin's secret, Minerva feared. That they would react badly if and when they did, Minerva was certain. What, oh what, would happen then?

This was definitely a matter to be brought to Albus's attention, and the sooner the better.

She sighed and turned toward the hospital wing. First things first, she would check on the Lupin boy, as she had meant to do since the sun first rose that morning.

"Resting comfortably," came Madam Pomfrey's clipped, no nonsense, informative greeting as Minerva entered the hospital wing. "A touch of bronchitis, and a small scratch across his ribs. He should be well enough to return to his dormitory after supper." She took a moment's pause from her bustling movements to eye Minerva when the other chuckled quietly. "Or is there another reason that brings you here, Minerva?"

"No, no," the professor responded with a grin. "You know me too well, Poppy."

Pomfrey gave an amused snort. "Well, what else would bring you and the Headmaster in on the same day, short of a quidditch accident or a disaster in Horace's class?"

"Hmm." Minerva then looked down at the parchment she still held in her hands and said, "The other students believe him to be ill this month."

Pomfrey raised an eyebrow in concern. "They're beginning to notice his absence, are they?"

"Only a handful, thank Merlin," Minerva replied quietly.

"Black among them?" asked Madam Pomfrey.

Minerva was momentarily taken aback by Pomfrey's observation. "How did you know?"

"Last month," Poppy answered as though it were obvious. "The 'Whomping Willow' month. Excellent cover story, by the way, Minerva."

"Yes, thank you, but what has that got to do with Sirius Black?"

Poppy frowned. "Didn't I tell you?" The fact that she hadn't must have been evident on Minerva's face, for she sighed and said, "Oh dear. Well, I did mention it to Albus. I must have forgotten."

"Forgotten what, Poppy?" pressed Minerva, her patience wearing thin.

"Well, it seems young Mr. Lupin fainted in the common room after I'd sent him back," Poppy explained. "Oh, don't look so alarmed, Minerva. The boy is hardly made of glass, you know. Anyway, shortly afterward, Mr. Black came to see me and informed me of the situation, as he had been the only witness to Lupin's fainting spell. I sent him back to the dormitory with a dose of Blood Replenishing Potion and instructions to see me at once if Lupin seemed no better, and that was the last I saw of him." She shook her head regretfully. "I'm sorry, Minerva. I really thought I'd told you."

Minerva sighed and waved her hand dismissively. "Pish posh, Poppy," she said. "It's nothing. Although it does somewhat explain this." She showed Pomfrey the folded parchment. "Black and Potter took notes for him in my class today."

Poppy's eyes widened. "Is that so?"

Minerva nodded. "It surprised me as well," she admitted. "They even tried to deliver them to him between classes. Not knowing his condition, I assumed it would be best if I delivered them myself."

"Indeed," Poppy agreed. "Well, you can put them on the bedside table. He was asleep the last I checked."

"I'll try not to wake him," Minerva said with a smile as she followed Pomfrey to the privacy curtains that surrounded the bed in which rested the young werewolf. Poppy herself peeked within before she ushered Minerva between the curtains with a finger to her lips.

As he had every other time she had seen him in the hospital wing, the sleeping boy appeared heartbreakingly fragile as he lay there in his bed. Each time she saw him like this, she found it difficult to reconcile the notion of a violent, bloodthirsty werewolf with the small, pale boy in front of her. Had she not known for certain what he was, she would have thought the idea completely ludicrous.

Very, very quietly, she placed Black and Potter's notes on the table beside the bed, and as she did so, she hoped fervently that the boy's friends would think the idea was ludicrous, as well—too ludicrous to consider, too ludicrous to suspect, too ludicrous to imagine.

The notes on the table, the button she'd allowed Mr. Pettigrew to keep, the actions Black had taken last month, and the looks on the four faces of the would-be visitors she had sent back to class all indicated that the poor, sleeping werewolf would be in for a rough road over the next six years. It would be a wonderful road, one that would probably bring him more joy than he had ever had in his young life, but a bumpy road all the same.

Because now he had friends, just like every other normal boy his age. And friendships were hard enough to navigate for every other normal boy his age.

But he was not every other normal boy.

He was a werewolf.

And friendship changed everything.

* * *

Everything had changed when Remus arrived back in the common room that evening. For starters, Sirius and James had been talking to Peter. Not teasing him, not laughing at him, but talking to him. Whatever the conversation had been, however—something about Slytherins, Remus had gathered in those first few seconds—it had ceased the moment Remus had stepped into the room.

That was when he encountered the second change. Simultaneously, all three boys had cried, "Loopy's back!"

Peter, who had always called him Remus, had adopted the nickname Sirius and James had called him for the past month. It hadn't bothered Remus; after all, it had never bothered Remus when James or Sirius had used it. It was just . . . different.

Then, when Peter had bounded over to Remus to show him the button in his hand—Remus had looked over the notes that had been left for him in the common room, so he had known the button was really a transfigured beetle—Sirius and James had followed him across the room, telling Remus of their own experiences in Transfiguration while Peter smiled proudly at his "O"-worthy button.

Remus had remained quiet for the remainder of the evening, listening as James, Sirius, and Peter filled him in on the events of the day and their plans for tomorrow. He had noticed that Peter did little more than agree with the other two or echo their sentiments, but no one had seemed to mind.

By the time Remus lay down in his bed, his mind was awhirl. He had no idea what had happened during the day to change the dynamic of the first-year boys' dormitory, but now he felt somewhat lost and confused.

The mattress abruptly shook as Peter bounded onto the foot of Remus's bed.

"Isn't this great, Remus?" he whispered, and Remus could hear the glee in the other boy's voice.

Remus propped himself up on his elbows and looked down at the shadow of Peter where he sat. "Pete, what happened today?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" the other boy responded, sounding genuinely puzzled.

"You, Potter, Black," he whispered in return. "What happened between you three?"

There was a moment of silence at the foot of the bed before Pete answered in his high-pitched whisper, "I don't know. I mean, we had gone down to the hospital wing after Transfiguration. Well, Lily and I did. And James and Sirius were following us. Well, we thought they were following us. But they weren't. They were going to the hospital wing, too. To give you the notes they took. But McGonagall stopped us all before we got there and sent us to class. So while we were in Charms, I got this note from Sirius asking if I knew what was wrong with you. I wrote back that I thought he did, since he'd taken notes for you. But then he wrote back that he'd seen you heading for the hospital wing yesterday and that he'd told you he'd take notes for you in class, since you looked pretty bad. Then I wrote back that it had been a nice thing to do. And that was it, until after class, when he asked about the button, and I explained that McGonagall said I could keep it to show to you. Then James asked to see it and asked me how I got to be so good at Transfiguration. And then we started talking, the three of us, right on through lunch and everything. So then in Potions this afternoon, I felt brave enough to ask James for help. And he sort of rolled his eyes, but then he helped me. And when Snivellus tried to say something to Slughorn about it, Sirius defended James and me. And then Snivellus tried to hex Sirius in the hallway after class, but I used a tickling charm on him, and that made both James and Sirius laugh. And then . . . well, I guess we're friends now."

Peter was grinning so broadly in the shadows at the foot of his bed that his teeth appeared bright white in the light of the waning moon.

Remus remained silent as he processed Peter's story.

"Isn't this great, Remus?" the other boy repeated gleefully. "We're friends now, the four of us!"

"What are you girls whispering about over there?" James grumbled suddenly from his bed.

"I think Pete is keeping Loop awake," Sirius snorted.

"Oi, Pete," James called in a mockingly authoritative voice. "Leave Loopy alone. He's con . . . convention. . . no, contem. . . no, wait, what's that word again, Sirius?"

It was Pete who responded, "Convalescing?"

"Yeah, that's the one, Pete," James replied. "So get to bed, Professor Peter, and let him get back to convalescing. And let the rest of us get back to our beauty sleep."

"Now who's the girl?" Sirius teased.

"Shut it, Black."

At the foot of Remus's bed, Peter giggled. "See?" he whispered elatedly. "Well, g'night, Remus."

"G'night, Pete," Remus replied, unable to stop the grin from forming on his own face.

He supposed Peter was right. It was pretty great, now that the four of them were friends.

He put his head back on the pillow and sighed as he closed his eyes. Everything had changed, he thought as he drifted off to sleep.


End file.
